It's A Splendid Life
by FutureRust
Summary: James struggles in the aftermath of his crash at Tidmouth Sheds and divine intervention is required to get him back on track.
1. Trouble In The Shed

**Author's note: **Let's get this out of the way right at the beginning: I make no apologies for taking one of the most Christmassy stories of all time and completely removing the Christmas element from it. Rest assured, this isn't some kind of HIT Entertainment 'winter holiday' agenda. I wanted to set the story after James's crash at Tidmouth Sheds and as the episodes focussing on this event and its repercussions clearly don't take place during the winter, it seemed a bit over the top to move the timeline. It would appear that Rebecca and Nia are both on Sodor by the time the festive season comes around and as they wouldn't have enough history with James to generate much in the way of plot, I decided it was easiest to leave the seasonal aspect out altogether. I hope it doesn't detract from the story.

**Chapter 1: Trouble in the Sheds**

It was the sort of morning which led the residents of Sodor to wonder if the big green engine might have had a point when he refused to leave that tunnel all those years ago.

Torrential rain poured from a slate-grey sky, causing damage and disruption across the island. A landslide halted operations at the China Clay pits. Several villages were cut off as roads and rails were submerged by swollen rivers. At Maron station, a section of guttering collapsed onto the platform narrowly missing the stationmaster. Many inhabitants chose to batten down the hatches and wait for the storm to pass, but for the workforce of the North Western Railway, both human and rolling stock, this was not an option. The railway had a reputation to maintain and rain, even in such a quantity, was not enough of a hindrance to prevent most services from running as usual. All the same, no one with any common sense was prepared to withstand the deluge for longer than was necessary. Engines and employees alike took every opportunity they could to find shelter in between jobs, much to the chagrin of the trucks who protested loudly and at length about the injustice of it all. As a result, the yard at Knapford was abnormally quiet and there were no witnesses present to overhear when an unusual exchange drifted across the sidings.

An urgent voice rang out, "Clarence!"

"You called me, sir?" a second voice replied from the far side of the yard.

"An engine here on Sodor needs our help."

"Splendid! Have they been in an accident?"

"No, worse. He's discouraged. At exactly ten forty-five this morning, that engine will be thinking seriously of throwing away his builders' greatest gift."

"Oh, dear, dear! His life! Sir… If I should accomplish this mission, might I perhaps win my wings? I've been waiting for a long time and the others are beginning to talk."

"Clarence, you do a good job with James and you'll get your wings."

"Oh, thank you, sir!" There was a pause, then the second speaker called out again in a slightly less respectful tone. "Hang on a minute, did you say 'James'? Red engine, number five, thinks himself rather splendid? Crashed into Tidmouth Sheds not long ago?"

"That's correct. I assume you know him."

"Oh yes," the voice became noticeably more cheerful. "It shouldn't be too difficult to raise his spirits, then."

"Keep your brakes on, Clarence," the first speaker cautioned. "Let me show you what has led James onto this track. There was an incident at the sheds this morning…"

XXX

"He's finally awake, thank goodness!"

It took James a few moments to register the exclamation. The shift into wakefulness had been abrupt and his thoughts were still preoccupied with the lingering remnants of his nightmare. It had been the usual fragments of memory: Rosie's cries, barely audible over his own screams; the clattering of the turntable beneath him; the looming brickwork and the terrible inevitability of pain. As he tried to focus on the warmth spreading from his firebox, he glanced around the sheds and attempted to reassure himself that he was safe now. It was only when he caught sight of Emily's scowl that James realised she had spoken and her tone had been sharp. "Me? What did I do?"

Thomas chuckled. "Oh, you're in for it now!"

"The snoring, James! I haven't had a wink of sleep, thanks to your constant noise!"

James began to smirk, before recognising that the green engine was completely serious. "Wait, you're angry with me because of something I did _while I was asleep?_"

Emily rolled her eyes. "Even when you're asleep, you just have to be the centre of attention, don't you?"

James glared at Thomas, who was grinning widely at this. "I can't control whether I snore or not! Don't be unreasonable, Emily!" He looked towards Gordon in an appeal for support. Gordon ignored him.

Between them, the empty berth that had formerly been Edward's felt like an accusation.

Tired, disturbed by his unpleasant dreams and feeling thoroughly miserable, James allowed his temper to get the better of him. "All right, Emily, I'm sorry! I'm sorry that I can't live up to your high standards. I'm sorry that my presence annoys you so greatly. I'm sorry that when I crashed into the sheds, I didn't damage myself badly enough to be scrapped so your life would be easier. There, is that what you wanted to hear?"

Emily gawked at him in shock. "There's no need to be so dramatic!"

James snorted. "You picked a fight with me and now you're complaining that I'm being dramatic because I think it's unfair? Just for once it would be nice if someone could look at things from my point of view!"

At this point, Henry broke into the disagreement. "I've had enough of this," he snapped, rolling towards the turntable. "These petty arguments are becoming ridiculous! If you expect me to put up with shouting matches all the time now Edward has left, I'm going to find somewhere else to sleep. Rosie says there's a spare berth at Vicarstown."

The remaining engines stood in stunned silence as he vanished into the rain, the sounds made by their crews moving around muted by its dull roar. An uncomfortable sense of guilt flowed through James's boiler. Henry was right; there had been a lot more bad feeling around the sheds since he had returned from the Steamworks. James had been trying to avoid thinking about it but if he was candid with himself, he knew that he was largely responsible. He had become very defensive since the accident, quick to snap at the others for even the slightest criticism. A rational part of his mind kept prompting him to apologise, to stop overreacting, but for the most part it was drowned out by the constant nagging suspicion that everyone was looking down on him for his failings.

Eventually Gordon spoke, and his words seemed to validate the red engine's concerns. "Are you satisfied, James? You've already driven Edward away – "

"I did not drive Edward away!" protested James angrily.

"If you hadn't demolished the sheds with your foolish antics, he would still be here!" Gordon thundered. "If Henry leaves too, you'll be held responsible!" The turntable swung round and he began to move out of the sheds.

James watched him go in silence, his rage and guilt ebbing away to be replaced with an almost overwhelming weariness. It occurred to him that he could have reminded Gordon of the large hole in the wall of Kirk Ronan station, caused by the larger engine when his own brakes had failed. He could also have suggested that decades of Gordon belittling Edward for his age and abilities might have been a factor in the older engine's decision to leave. But ultimately, it all just seemed like too much effort and so he said nothing, watching dismally as first Emily and then Thomas also left for their first jobs of the morning. Thomas shot him a sympathetic look as he departed but James considered it too little, too late and refused to acknowledge the gesture.

James's driver released his brakes and as he began to move towards the turntable, Percy spoke up. "Emily didn't mean what she said, James. She's just really tired and the bad weather makes everyone grumpy." He eyed the red engine cautiously. "Are you all right?"

James sighed. "Don't pretend you care, Perce." And, reflecting that at least the day was unlikely to get worse, he set off into the downpour, leaving a deeply concerned saddle tank in his wake.


	2. Duck and the Diesel Engine

**Chapter 2: Duck and the Diesel Engine**

James was still in disgrace as a result of the Tidmouth Sheds incident. The Fat Controller had been brutally frank as he reprimanded him. "It is one thing to have such blatant disregard for your own safety," he had said gravely, "but with faulty brakes, you were a terrible risk to the safety of others. If you had been pulling coaches when they failed, your recklessness might have caused horrific injuries and even fatalities. I don't believe you want that on your conscience, James. Even so, you will only be allocated to take trucks for the foreseeable future. I can't allow you to take passengers until I am certain that you fully understand how awful the consequences of your actions might have been."

James had accepted this without argument, well aware that he had no defence whatsoever for his carelessness. Still, he wasn't happy at the prospect of the slow goods train which awaited him at Knapford.

"Hello James!" Philip greeted him with his usual exuberance, his cheerful outlook unaffected by the dreary weather. "Your trucks for Vicarstown are on the siding over there. Mavis delivered them last night. Oh, you don't have a brake van! I'll fetch one for you." And he rushed away again.

James regarded the covered trucks gloomily. The trucks stared back at him, looking distinctly unimpressed. "Oh well. Better get on with it, I suppose," he muttered.

He was just backing down onto the train, ready to be coupled up, when a familiar and unwelcome whistle drew his attention and a green pannier tank pulled up alongside him.

"Duck," said James without enthusiasm.

"Beg pardon, James, but you appear to have my trucks there," Duck looked harassed. "I've been delayed due to the rain and I need to take them as soon as possible."

"These are my trucks," said James firmly. "They're from the quarry. Philip told me they were to go to Vicarstown."

"The yard manager told me they were the roof tiles for the new houses they're building up at Arlesburgh," Duck frowned. "I suppose we'd better find someone who can clear things up." Looking towards the train, he addressed the leading truck. "Hello there! What are you carrying?"

"I don't know but it's heavy!" wailed the truck.

James rolled his eyes. The opportunity to get one over on the Great Western engine was not something he could let pass. "Oh, that was a really clever idea, Duck! Asking the trucks, what a stroke of genius! We all know how much they love to help an engine out!"

"There's no need for sarcasm," Duck remarked, maintaining his composure much to James's annoyance. "Ah, Philip!" as the boxcab reappeared with a battered old brake van, "any idea whose train this is?"

Philip took in the sight of the two dissatisfied steam engines and his face fell as he realised his error. "Er, it could be yours, Duck. But it could be the quarry train for James. I think I might have got a bit mixed up, I'll go and -"

"So you don't actually know?" James huffed in exasperation.

"Well, the trucks were covered because of the rain, and Stafford was -"

"Oh, shut up, Philip!" growled James, his temper rising again. "It's bad enough having to put up with your incompetence without listening to you constantly wittering on. I just want to get my trucks and get out of here, I don't want to have to deal with annoying shunters making stupid mistakes any longer than is absolutely necessary!"

Philip stared at him in silence for a few seconds, his face uncharacteristically solemn, exhibiting a degree of dignity few would have suspected to be within his capability. "You know, James," he said quietly. "I sometimes wonder if I did the right thing when I saved you from falling off that bridge."

"And I wish you hadn't bothered!" yelled James furiously as his patience snapped completely. "You should have let me fall! It would have saved me from listening to you going on about it all of the time!"

Alerted by the shouting, several workers began making their way across the yard towards the sidings. Philip looked down at the rails and moved away without a word. James, feeling rather shocked at his outburst, closed his eyes and tried to calm himself. His crew were murmuring urgently in his cab but he couldn't make out what was said. He knew that word of this would get back to the Fat Controller and he had done himself no favours by treating the little diesel so harshly. When he opened his eyes again, he was greeted by Duck's reproachful expression.

"That was uncalled for," the green engine said sternly. "Everyone makes mistakes sometimes, James. You ought to know that better than most."

James chose to lash out again rather than address the jibe. "If you're going to tell me that it would never happen on the Great Western, don't bother. I'm not in the mood."

"History's repeating itself, James," said Duck coolly. "As I recall, you had a similar attitude towards Percy when I arrived on Sodor. And for all you mock me, you should know that on the Great Western, it was unacceptable for larger engines to treat their smaller colleagues with such contempt. Our standards were higher than you seem to understand."

James sneered. "Get over it, Duck, you're not on the Great Western these days. They didn't want you any more, remember? They sold you to the Fat Controller." It was a deliberately hurtful thing to mention and he knew it. He just wanted Duck to leave him alone so he could gather his thoughts.

"Allow me to give you some advice," Duck said, keeping his tone level despite the anger flashing in his eyes. "You'll never get the admiration you want from others if you can't move past your self-obsession. Think about things from someone else's point of view for once. Acquire some perspective and you'll find that you gain more respect."

"Perspective? What are you on about?"

Duck smirked. "I heard you destroyed the sheds and your immediate reaction was to ask about your appearance. It's safe to say your outlook on life is fairly limited."

"That was a joke!" In hindsight, James recognised that it had been a mistake to mention his paintwork as he sat amongst the rubble, but at the time he'd been so frightened by Rosie's horrified expression that he'd wanted to make light of things to reassure her. Unfortunately, Rosie had misunderstood his intention and before he'd known it, everyone on Sodor had heard what a silly, vain engine he had been. Duck raised a sceptical eyebrow but before he could respond, an oilskin-clad yard worker strode onto the ballast in front of them.

"When you gents have quite finished bickering, we've decided to check what's in the trucks and get things moving." He turned to a much younger man standing nearby. "Off you go, mate. Have a shufti for us."

"Right you are, sir!" The worker scrambled up the side of the protesting truck, heaving the canvas out of the way before reporting back. "Roof tiles!"

The trucks immediately began to jeer and Duck looked over in triumph at James, who felt like screaming at the unfairness of it all. Motion inside his cab warned him that his driver was preparing to move him forward to allow Duck to take his place at the head of the train. Without really thinking, James readied himself and as he felt his brakes release, he used every ounce of control he had to propel his frame sharply backwards, his tender colliding forcefully with the buffers of the leading truck. The satisfaction this gave him was wiped out almost instantly as the unmistakable cry of a human in pain rang out across the yard. Duck's eyes widened in shock and he reversed out of James's line of sight as the yard workers raced to provide assistance to their injured colleague.

James himself couldn't have moved now even if he'd wanted to. His brakes had been reapplied and his driver was standing on the track in front of him. "You idiot!" he raged, fists clenched at his sides, "you absolute, utter _idiot_ of an engine! What the hell were you thinking? We're already in enough trouble as it is after the crash at the sheds!"

His fireman leaned out of the cab. "All right, mate, that isn't helpful," he said firmly.

"What…what happened?" James whispered, almost frozen with dread. He could hear Duck moving trucks behind him.

"The young lad who checked the trucks hadn't managed to climb down before you moved," the fireman replied. "He was knocked to the ground. I'm not sure how badly hurt he is."

By this point his driver had returned to his cab and, muttering curses under his breath, steered him away from the scene and onto another siding to await instructions. James gazed ahead at the rails with unseeing eyes, completely humiliated and terrified by the consequences of his foolishness. There could be no coming back from this, he was certain to be sent away this time. He'd hurt a human in a stupid fit of rage and that was surely the worst thing any engine could possibly do, the very thing that the Fat Controller had warned him against.

He was so consumed by his thoughts that he didn't detect another engine approaching until a black shape materialised next to him.

"Oh dear, oh dear," Diesel's half-hearted attempt to look sympathetic failed as his mouth twisted into mocking smile. "Having a bad day?"

James tried to summon up the energy to scowl at him.

"You know, I'm worried for you," Diesel said, his voice oozing faux concern. "Running a railway is a pricey business. The Fat Controller will have had to part with a sizeable amount of money to get Tidmouth Sheds rebuilt, and that's without factoring in the cost of your repairs. And this incident today: there will be an inquiry and they might decide that the railway should pay compensation to that poor boy and his family. You're becoming expensive, James. At some point, the Fat Controller may well start wondering whether you're worth more to him as scrap than as a working engine."

This was a possibility which hadn't occurred to James. The engines were vaguely aware of the concept of money and they understood that people took financial matters very seriously. The enormity of Diesel's suggestion stunned him completely.

"Oh look, here he comes now," Diesel pointed out as a figure, easily recognisable despite being partially obscured by an enormous umbrella, moved carefully over the wet tracks towards them. "I'd better be off. I'm sure you'd like some privacy for this conversation. See you later, James. Or not, as the case may be." He grinned maliciously and purred away.

The umbrella tilted backwards, and James, confronted by his owner's furious expression, suddenly rediscovered his voice. "Sir, I'm sorry, please-"

Sir Topham Hatt raised a hand to silence him. "I don't want to hear it," he snapped. "I have a duty of care to everyone on this railway and right now, my priority is that boy. I'm beyond disappointed with you, James, and I really don't know…" He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, before appearing to reach a decision. "This is what is going to happen. You are going to take the quarry train to Vicarstown as scheduled. It's already been delayed and I'm not prepared to let clients down. Leave it with Rosie at the yard and then run light straight back to Tidmouth Sheds where you can wait until I am ready to speak to you. The rest of your jobs will be redistributed to other engines. Is that understood?"

James mumbled a reply automatically, one that was apparently adequate as the Fat Controller lowered his umbrella again and walked away. His crew attempted to speak with him as they waited for the trucks to be delivered but he ignored them, watching the incessant fall of the rain and wondering exactly how things had gone so drastically wrong.


	3. Off The Rails

**Author's note: **For the purposes of plot, I'm following Railway Series canon with James having arrived on Sodor after Thomas.

**Chapter 3: Off The Rails**

The journey along the main line was one of the most difficult James had ever endured. The driving rain limited his vision and made the tracks slippery but his mind was elsewhere and he found it hard to focus on his work. As much as he tried to suppress his terror at the awful fate which might await him, he couldn't escape the guilt needling away in his mind. Humans were terribly delicate things and he had no way of knowing whether the young man would survive as his driver had been unable to contact anyone who knew the extent of his injuries. Even if the boy recovered, James felt sure that no one would forgive him for his behaviour.

A few engines passed him travelling in the opposite direction, but he avoided any kind of interaction. The list of those he had managed to turn against him grew longer the more he thought about it. He had caused nothing but trouble for the Fat Controller ever since he arrived on Sodor, managing to crash on his very first day. He had let down his crew badly and he suspected that they might request a transfer to a less challenging engine. The workers in the yards would probably be too concerned for their safety to go near him. He had been intentionally cruel to Duck and callous to Philip, the knock-on effect of which was certain to be Edward's disapproval. Everyone at Tidmouth Sheds was fed up of him, even Henry and Gordon, once his closest allies. There was no one he could count on to speak up for him even if his actions had been defensible.

The trucks, of course, did not help at all. "It's Squeaky Wheels," they had shrieked as the shunter had coupled them behind James. "Save us! He's dangerous!"

James had bashed them for the sake of appearances and instructed them to behave but they had sensed that he was upset and had no intention of giving him an easy time. As the train moved out of the yard and through the town, they began a chorus of squeaks and groans calculated to grate on the nerves of anyone unfortunate enough to be subjected to it for more than a few seconds. James gritted his teeth. His driver swore and made sure no one in earshot had any doubt that he regretted his choice of career.

After a while the leading truck grew bored of the game. "Hey, you lot, do you remember the old nickname we gave him?"

"The Pretentious Pillar Box?" suggested one of the wagons. James grimaced. He hadn't heard that one before.

"Fire Engine?" supplied another.

"No, further back than that! 'Rusty Red Scrap Iron'!"

"Bloody Diesel," growled James as the sniggering trucks took up the refrain. He tried to block out the sound but the sing-song rhythm of the chanting made it virtually impossible to ignore and it wormed its way into his consciousness, amplifying his fear until he was on the point of panic. He despaired at his powerlessness, knowing that his fate lay entirely with the Fat Controller and the other humans who made the important decisions on the NWR. Within days he could be cut open, stripped for spare parts and melted down to be repurposed, his splendid paintwork long forgotten. In desperation, he considered his options, trying to devise a way out of the mess he had created. Eventually a spark of an idea presented itself to him. It wasn't a pleasant alternative and it wouldn't improve the situation but it was one that would allow him some control over his destiny and right now, that was the best he could hope for.

"Shut up!" he commanded the trucks. "Your wailing is giving me a pain in my smokebox. Stop that racket or I'll whack you until your axles snap!"

"Don't speak to us like that, Squeaky Wheels!" shrieked the leading truck. "We won't be threatened!"

"Oh, have I offended you? Tough. I'm an engine and you are mere trucks. I can say what I like to you. You only exist so we can pull you around, you aren't important."

The trucks began to grumble quietly and James felt assured that the intervention would be enough to set his hastily devised scheme in motion. He fell silent again, watching the drenched landscape flash by in bleak apprehension.

As they reached Gordon's Hill, his plan came to fruition. The trucks trundled obediently behind James as he began to ascend slowly, struggling to manage the gradient while combating the weight of the stone and the wet rails. Upon reaching the summit, however, they responded just as he had anticipated and began to bump along the track with increasing speed, pushing the engine forward. James felt his wheels slipping beneath him and closed his eyes as he accelerated, bracing for a catastrophic collision. _This is it_, he thought grimly.

His downward flight was abruptly checked as the coupling between him and the leading truck suddenly pulled taut. His driver and fireman were flung against the backhead and it was sheer luck which prevented them from sustaining severe burns.

Looking back as best he could, James caught a glimpse of the scruffy brake van coupled behind the trucks, holding the train back with apparently supernatural strength. Limited by the application of his own brakes, James tried to propel himself onward but the van stood firm. "How are you doing that!" he cried in frustration. "What's the guard playing at? Take your brakes off!"

"I'm saving you," the brake van called back.

"I don't need saving," James retorted, but by this point it was too late. His crew had recovered from the impact and, with carefully manoeuvring and the assistance of the guard, his driver gradually brought the train down to the bottom of the hill, halting as soon as it was safe to do so.

"That was an impressively quick reaction." The fireman leaned heavily against James's tender and called out to the guard as the latter strode along the ballast towards James. "Well done, mate, you saved us all."

"He didn't stop the train," said the brake van. "I did it to save James."

The driver snorted. "I'll try not to be offended."

"Well, I did, didn't I?" the brake van addressed James directly. "You didn't go through with it, did you?"

"Go through with what?" demanded his driver suspiciously.

"Suicide," the van said, wide-eyed, as though it was obvious what had occurred.

James closed his eyes as horrified exclamations erupted from his cab. He opened them again to find the two crewmen standing before him and averted his gaze, too ashamed to look directly at them.

"How could you?" his driver yelled. "Of all the selfish…. You've done some stupid things in your time but I never believed you meant to put us in danger. You would have killed us, James!" Shock caught up with him and he wobbled as his legs threatened to give way.

The fireman caught his shoulders as he swayed and held him upright. "Watch yourself, Laurence. Shouting at him isn't going to make things any better." He turned to James. "I think you'd better explain yourself."

James gave a heavy sigh, horribly alert to the fact that the trucks had fallen silent and would be listening eagerly to every word. "I didn't want you to be hurt," he whispered apologetically. "I thought… you'd jump out of the cab when you realised what was happening, like you did at the sheds. You're good at getting out of the way when things go wrong."

"Aren't they just?" remarked the brake van brightly.

Shaking his head, the fireman supported his colleague to walk over to the edge of the ballast where they joined the guard and began discussing what to do next. Once he was confident that their attention was no longer on him, James switched his focus to the brake van.

"You knew what I was going to do. What are you, a mind reader or something?"

"Oh no," the van replied cheerfully.

"Well, who are you then?" James tried to recall if he had encountered the van before. If he had worked with him previously, most likely he would have complained about having to pull such a battered old thing. There were probably several other vans on Sodor who would have shoved him off the rails themselves had they been given the opportunity.

"Clarence. LNER 20 ton brake van, A-S-2."

"What's that?" James frowned. "A-S-2 isn't a type of brake van."

"Angel, Second Class."

James paused, trying to process what he had just heard. Eventually he managed to construct a response. "_Second_ Class?"

"I haven't won my wings yet," Clarence explained. "That's why I'm an Angel Second Class."

"Sounds about right," said James dejectedly. "You'd think I might get a First Class…" he trailed off, as the rest of his mind caught up. "Angel?"

"I'm your guardian angel," Clarence supplied helpfully.

James was starting to wonder if he was hallucinating. Maybe he had crashed and damaged himself in such a way that it caused him to experience things that weren't real? At a loss for what else to do, he sought more information. "How can you be an angel?"

"Haven't you ever wondered why some brake vans have faces and others don't?"

"Humans," said James flatly. Humans did a lot of things that seemed strange to the engines and he'd decided long ago that there was little to be gained in trying to fathom their motives.

"Not quite," Clarence said gently. "You see, those of us with faces haven't won our wings yet. When we do, we leave our physical forms. They remain on the railway but without the soul which gave them life."

"Oh." This was a lot to take in, especially given that engines didn't often think about spiritual matters. Knowing exactly who had created them and for what purpose took a lot of the mystery out of life and left relatively little to speculate on. "So… Toad is an angel?"

Clarence smiled fondly. "Dear Toad. Gained his wings years ago, of course, but he's completely gone native and refuses to be parted from Oliver."

"_Bradford_ is an angel?"

Clarence's smile faded. "Yes. He focuses on the physical safety of his charges a bit more than most of us."

"The Spiteful Brake Van that Douglas-"

"Look, James," the van cut him off, apparently keen to move the conversation forward. "It's effectively a job title. Angels don't have to be, well, angelic in personality."

"You're telling me that Douglas _killed an angel_?" James said in disbelief. He would never see the Caledonian engine in the same light again.

"Don't you worry yourself about Douglas," Clarence instructed him. "I've been sent to help _you_."

"I don't know whether I like it very much, running along the mainline with an angel without any wings. You look really quite shabby, can't you magic yourself some new paint or something?"

"I've got to earn my wings," said Clarence placidly. "You'll help me, won't you?"

James raised an eyebrow. "How?"

"By letting me help you."

"I don't think you can help me," the red engine said quietly. "It's too late for me now. I've done so much damage that I'm probably worth more as scrap than I am alive."

"Now look, you mustn't talk like that," Clarence scolded. "I won't get my wings with that attitude. You just don't know all that you've done. If it hadn't been for you –"

"Yeah, if it hadn't been for me, everybody would be a lot better off," James interrupted. "The Fat Controller, my crew, the other engines. Go off and haunt someone else, will you?"

Clarence sighed. "This isn't going to be as easy as I expected." He gazed thoughtfully into the rain before speaking to James again. "So, you still think wrecking yourself would make everyone feel happier, eh?"

"I don't know," said James dismally. "Maybe you're right. I suppose it would have been better if I'd never come to Sodor at all."

Clarence frowned. "What did you say?"

"I wish," said James slowly, as if weighing up the words as he uttered them, "that I had never been built."

"Hmm…" The brake van appeared to be considering something. "That's an idea. Yes, that'll do it. All right, James, you've got your wish."

A sudden strong gust of wind buffeted James, forcing him to squint as it stung his eyes. When it passed, he was surprised to discover that the rain had stopped.

Clarence grinned. "You've never been built."


	4. The Sad Story of Henry

**Chapter 4: The Sad Story of Henry**

It was the absence of the trucks which first made James aware that something extraordinary had occurred. One moment they were there, subdued after the rapid descent of Gordon's Hill and the strange turn of events which prevented the train from crashing. The next moment they had vanished and James cried out in shock as he realised that Clarence was suddenly coupled immediately behind him. This attracted the attention of his crew, who stared incredulously at the impossible sight before them.

"The trucks were right here!" James wailed in disbelief. "I haven't moved anywhere. How can all those trucks just disappear?"

"You have no trucks," Clarence said patiently. "They were never here."

"I must be out of my smokebox," muttered the bewildered engine. The bizarre situation was too much for him to fully take in, especially given the emotionally draining events he had already experienced that morning. He wanted nothing more than to roll back into his berth at the sheds and wait there until the world started making sense again.

"Trust me, you're not," Clarence comforted him. "You haven't a care in the world. You were never built. You don't exist. No worries. No obligations. No punishments from the Fat Controller."

The guard patted James's driver on the shoulder in a reassuring fashion. "Don't worry, lad, Clarence knows what he's doing," he said. "Just go along for the ride. It'll all work out in the end."

The driver glared at him. "Seriously, Joseph? My engine just actively tried to derail himself at speed, I narrowly escaped death thanks to some kind of divine brake van, an entire goods train has disappeared into thin air and you're proposing that I simply accept it and carry on as usual? Either I'm off my nut or you are!"

The guard shrugged and grinned broadly as he started to amble back to his van. "I'm just doing my job, mate."

The fireman sighed thoughtfully and intervened before the spluttering driver could respond. "Look, we can't sit around here all day. Another engine will come down the line before too long and we'll be slap-bang in the way. Let's head off towards Vicarstown and try to work out what to do."

It took a great deal of persuasion before the driver was convinced to return to his engine but eventually what remained of the train began to move again. James felt horribly disorientated as the journey progressed. He had worked on the main line consistently since his move to Sodor and the route should have been as familiar to him as his own buffers, but somehow the landscape appeared to have changed. For one thing, there seemed to be far more roads than there should have been and unfamiliar buses kept trundling past. For another, he didn't see the junction to the Ulfstead branch line, although James felt certain that he must have simply failed to notice it. Branch lines couldn't just disappear and he had had a stressful morning, after all. However, as he approached Kellsthorpe, the evidence that the Kirk Ronan branch had also vanished was unavoidable.

"That's strange," he murmured worriedly.

"You'll see a lot of strange things from now on," remarked Clarence.

Frowning, James ignored the brake van and resumed his examination of his surroundings as he slowed to pull into the station at Kellsthorpe Road. An unmistakeable green figure was waiting at one of the platforms and James whistled a greeting, fervently hoping that the earlier argument had been forgotten. Perhaps he would feel less unsettled after a chat with Henry.

"He won't recognise you," warned Clarence.

"It's all right. Henry's a good friend of mine."

As James pulled up on the adjacent line, it became clear that Henry was struggling. His face was a picture of abject misery, his boiler shuddered violently and his crew, their expressions grave, were holding an urgent conversation with the stationmaster on the platform.

James was alarmed. "Henry, what happened?"

Henry winced as a wave of pain coursed through him and gave James an enquiring look. "How do you know my name?"

"Don't mess about, Henry. It's me, James!"

"Have we met?"

James stared at him in amazement. "We've known each other for years! Red James, splendid James! You spoke to me this morning at the sheds!" Something was niggling at the back of James's mind, a vague sense that a crucial piece of information was eluding him but he ignored it, more troubled by the serious memory lapse afflicting his friend.

"I certainly did not!" Henry looked offended. "Look here, I may have some physical difficulties but my mind is fully functional! You'll get nowhere if you try to play silly tricks on me."

"I crashed into the sheds! I was trapped on a spinning turntable in high winds! A bee stung me on the nose!" In desperation, James surrendered his pride. "Bootlaces! Surely you remember the bootlaces incident?"

"I haven't the faintest idea what that is supposed to mean. I think you may have mistaken me for another engine, although I can't think who that might be." Henry closed his eyes and groaned as his boiler shook again.

James looked at him in concern. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Shortage of Welsh coal," the green engine hissed through gritted teeth. "Firebox can't cope with this inferior stuff."

"Welsh coal?" James laughed. "But you haven't needed Welsh coal for years!"

Henry scowled. "Would you stop making those strange jokes? It isn't amusing in the slightest. I'm in a considerable amount of pain!"

"Stop teasing me, Henry! You haven't needed special coal since they rebuilt you at Crewe after you crashed pulling the Kipper!"

"How dare you?!" snapped Henry indignantly. "I'll have you know that I have _never_ crashed while pulling the Flying Kipper, never! Where did you hear that outrageous lie?"

But James was no longer listening. The worrying thought at the back of his mind had finally crystallised into the realisation that although the green shape before him might be unmistakeable, it certainly wasn't as familiar as he had initially thought. Glancing over his boiler, it suddenly struck James that this was not Henry the Black Five, resurrected after his devastating accident by the skilled engineers at Crewe. This was Henry as he had been when James had first joined the North Western Railway, the failing prototype with the inadequate firebox, in constant need of repair. Dazed, James tried and failed to identify a rational explanation for this sudden regression and stared in astonishment at his friend.

Henry's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why are you looking at me like that? And what are you doing anyway, pulling a brake van around with no freight?"

"I'm his guardian angel," said Clarence cheerfully.

Henry snorted in derision. "Are you really? I could do with a guardian angel myself. I suffer dreadfully and no one cares!"

"I care," said James, surprising himself with his vehemence. Guilt was seeping into his system once again. He had often mocked Henry's illnesses in the old days; they all had, Edward excepted, convinced that Henry was simply too lazy to complete the work assigned to him. Reassessing the situation with the knowledge he now had of his friend's work ethic, James could plainly see how much the green engine was struggling. This was no act. His suffering was genuine, and James felt awful at having previously misjudged him so badly. "I could help you to the Steamworks if you'd like?" he offered, eager to assist somehow in order to atone for his previous insensitivity.

"There wouldn't be much point," grunted Henry. "They can't do anything for me."

"Hold on, old chap," Henry's driver chipped in. "If this fellow here could give you a push, the movement might shake up your fire and get it burning properly. I don't suppose you could get us to Vicarstown, could you?"

James and his crew acquiesced and he began to reverse to allow the points to be changed. As he slowly moved away from Henry, James murmured to Clarence, "I don't understand. Are you a hypnotist?"

"Oh no, nothing of the sort," said Clarence earnestly.

"Then how is any of this possible? How could Henry's accident have suddenly not happened?"

"You see, James, on that night you were not there on the siding with your train. There was no obstruction on the track for Henry to crash into."

"What do you mean, I wasn't there? I remember it distinctly!" The recollection of that terrible night was something James knew he could never rid himself of, no matter how fiercely he wished that he could. The image of Henry lying broken in the snow had haunted his dreams for weeks while the other engine was at Crewe. Even now, so many years later, he couldn't tolerate the smell of fish. The others thought his aversion highly amusing, assuming that he thought the odour would damage his ostensible reputation as the most impressive engine on Sodor. He had never admitted to anyone that it brought back horrific memories and lingering guilt at having been the one who emerged unscathed.

The points were switched and as James advanced towards Henry, he attempted to pull his focus back to the present once more. "Your explanation is ridiculous, Clarence. I _was_ there, I must have been because I remember it clearly. How could I remember something which didn't happen? Anyway, the goods train would have gone even I hadn't been there. The Fat Controller would have given the job to another engine."

"He couldn't."

"What do you mean, 'couldn't'? Why not?"

"For the same reason Henry doesn't have the Welsh coal that he needs. The financial position of the North Western Railway is… precarious. There was no engine available to take that train because without you, the workforce was reduced."

James frowned thoughtfully as he was coupled behind Henry's tender.

"Don't you understand, James?" said Clarence softly. "It's because you were never built."

"Then if I wasn't built, who am I?" James had an odd sensation of dizziness, similar to that he had experienced after escaping from his imprisonment on the aforementioned turntable. He had never been one for philosophical thinking and trying to align the evidence of his senses with contradictory facts which he knew to be true was entirely baffling him.

"You're nobody. You have no identity."

"_Nobody?!_" James exclaimed furiously, and in front of him, Henry flinched at the sudden sound. "I'm James, the Splendid Red Engine! Nobody on this railway is more of a somebody than me!"

"Completely delusional," muttered Henry to no one in particular. "'James the Obviously Mad Engine', if you ask me."

"There is no James," reiterated Clarence. "You have no timetable, no paperwork. Even the number on your tender belongs to another engine. You've been given a great gift, James. A chance to see what Sodor would be like without you."

"You know what, Clarence?" fumed James, sore at the perceived insult. "You're crazy! And you're driving me crazy too. This is some sort of funny dream I'm having here. When we get to Vicarstown, I'm leaving you there, do you hear me? I'm leaving you in the yard and I'm going back to Tidmouth on my own!"

Unperturbed, Clarence smiled placidly and the odd train began accelerating out of the station, attracting curious looks from the waiting passengers as it trundled past. James, for once, didn't appreciate the attention.


	5. Main Line Engines

**Chapter 5: Main Line Engines**

The spur to Great Waterton wasn't there either.

James was becoming accustomed to these strange disappearances, but that didn't mean he was resigned to them. Each time he noticed that something had unexpectedly changed, it added to his rising anger. He had given the situation some thought as he pushed Henry along the main line and he was now absolutely convinced that a trick was being played on him. It was infuriating: not only that he was the victim but that he couldn't work out how the prankster had managed to execute such an elaborate scheme. Someone was making a fool out of him. James was determined not only to uncover the truth but to make the perpetrator pay and it seemed obvious that Clarence was part of the conspiracy.

He wasn't sure how best to tackle the brake van and decided to bide his time, turning his attention to Henry instead. "So, why hasn't the Fat Controller got your Welsh coal?"

"It's too expensive," said Henry glumly. "He can't afford to spend so much on just one engine."

"That doesn't seem fair on you."

"There isn't an awful lot I can do about it. The only option I have is to keep going as best I can and hope that the financial situation improves. If I can manage a few goods trains then at least we're taking some business away from the road haulage companies."

James glanced up at the unfamiliar bridge passing over the line ahead of them and noted that there was a heavily laden lorry crossing. Henry's words clearly carried some truth. "But why is the railway struggling? Road haulage hasn't really been much competition before."

"Do you remember what the NWR was like when you first arrived on Sodor, James?" interjected Clarence.

James glowered. "Mind your own business, Clarence. I didn't ask you."

"I have to help you so I can get my wings," the brake van reminded him gently. "If you want to understand why the island is so different, you'll need to listen."

James rolled his eyes. "Fine," he snapped. "It was… smaller. Less busy. Some of the branch lines hadn't been constructed and there weren't as many people around."

"And there were fewer engines, of course," Clarence added. "Those who had been inherited or borrowed by the North Western were gone by the time you were brought to Sodor. Do you know why the Fat Controller chose you, James?"

"He saw how splendid I was, of course. I was a special engine even with black paint and wooden brakeblocks, you know," huffed James.

Clarence smiled knowingly. "'Special', yes, that's the word. That's _exactly_ the word."

"What do you mean by that?" James asked, suspicious. "Are you insulting me?"

"Oh no, not at all," said Clarence in a soothing tone. "But you did stand out rather amongst the other Class 28s on your original railway, didn't you?"

James looked down in realisation. "The pony truck?"

"You were an experimental design. Precisely the sort of engine the Fat Controller would be interested in." Clarence paused to allow James to absorb this information. "To put it simply, Sir Topham Hatt couldn't afford to purchase newly-built locomotives to run on his railway. Think about those who arrived before you. An aging model who remained on the island after his loan period came to an end because his previous owners no longer had a use for him. A prototype, unused to real service, who became surplus to requirements once his younger siblings began rolling out of the works at Doncaster. A complete wreck of an engine cobbled together from stolen plans-"

"I can hear you, you know!" growled the offended Henry.

"But it's true!" said Clarence, all wide-eyed innocence. "All of the engines in the North Western's fleet were bought at a knock-down price. Admittedly Thomas was a fairly standard design, but his arrival on Sodor is something of a mystery and he certainly wasn't purchased at market value. The Fat Controller made it known on the Mainland that he was on the lookout for a bargain. When the Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway decided to sell you, he realised that you fitted the bill perfectly."

"Are you suggesting that he bought me because I was _cheap_?!" cried James in outrage.

"Come now, James," said the brake van mildly, "you are worth more than your monetary value. But yes, you were… within his budget. The fortunes of the railway began to improve rapidly with an additional mixed-traffic engine and, well, you know the rest."

"What does all of that have to do with road haulage?" demanded James.

"In this reality, you were never built," explained Clarence patiently. "You weren't available for the Fat Controller to buy and he couldn't find another suitable engine to add to his workforce. The railway couldn't keep up with demand and the road network spread across the island as a result."

James frowned. "That seems highly unlikely."

"Designers don't often share their inventions," remarked Henry, having recovered slightly from the affront to his pride. "Unsuccessful prototypes are usually rebuilt, successful ones go into service. I should know."

"Don't tell me you actually believe his nonsense?" James asked incredulously.

Henry grinned. "Of course not. It's been entertaining to listen to, though. I'd take a brake van everywhere I went too if they could all tell tales like that!"

"When we get to Vicarstown, you're welcome to him," grumbled James. Clarence's gentle smile didn't waver.

James began to feel surprisingly apprehensive as the final station came into view. Although the main line had been unusually quiet, he was bound to encounter other engines at Vicarstown and he was unsettled by the thought that they, like Henry, might not recognise him. His unease was heightened when Henry caught sight of another engine ahead of them at the station and failed to suppress a groan. Unable to see who it was, James awaited the customary whistle but, to his puzzlement, no whistle sounded. He was astonished when he pulled into the station and realised that the engine who had been so unsociable was Gordon, waiting at a platform with the express coaches behind him. His reaction to their arrival came as even more of a surprise. Noticing Henry's approach, a brief flicker of disdain crossed the larger engine's face and he looked away, disinterested. But as James rolled into his line of sight, his curiosity was piqued and he glanced towards them again. His gaze ran slowly along James's boiler, from his smokebox to his tender and back again, before he resumed his study of the passengers congregating on the platform. James had the distinct impression that he had been appraised and judged unworthy of Gordon's attention. This was not something he was prepared to tolerate and he defiantly whistled a loud greeting.

"Whistling in the station," said Henry gloomily. "He won't like that."

Gordon rolled his eyes and sighed. "Important engines do not find it necessary to announce their arrival by doing something so vulgar as whistling in a station," he intoned with gravitas to all within earshot.

"_Really_ important engines," retorted James immediately, "don't find it necessary to tell everyone how important they are all the time. It's just _obvious_."

Henry sniggered, making a valiant but ultimately unsuccessful attempt to control himself when Gordon glared at him. He then appeared to decide that it was beneath his dignity to admonish the green engine and switched his focus to James. "Just arrived on Sodor, I take it? You should be aware that newcomers on the North Western generally sing small and don't get ideas above their station."

"Maybe they aren't 'singing small'," James returned, raising an eyebrow in challenge. "Maybe they're drowned out by the noise you make."

Henry's sniggers progressed to outright laughter at this and James struggled to maintain his own poise at the sight of Gordon's apoplectic expression. It was perhaps fortunate that they received the signal to move on and were able to leave their raging colleague behind them.

"That's Gordon, the express engine," Henry explained as they headed to the yard. "He's completely insufferable. Fortunately he doesn't lower himself to speak to the rest of us very often so we rarely have to put up with his superior airs for very long."

James mulled over this remark, suddenly feeling strangely saddened. The exchange with Gordon had reminded him of his early years on the railway, when the three big engines had communicated largely through mockery, although they had always acted in solidarity if they felt they had been disrespected by anyone outside of their group. He felt an odd sense of loss on behalf of his erstwhile friends who had apparently been deprived of those memories. At the same time, he was acutely aware that the old days were long gone. The three had changed as they had grown older, Henry in particular, and the friendship between them was no longer as close as it had been. For the first time, James acknowledged to himself how much he had missed it and wondered if the others did too. "Do you think Gordon's lonely?" he asked.

"If he is, I have very little sympathy for him," said Henry in a hard tone. "He's brought it upon himself with that condescending attitude. Look, James, he does tend to dominate the railway. You may have made an enemy for yourself back there."

"Oh, I can handle Gordon," James replied. He hoped the confidence in his voice masked the doubt that was beginning to creep into his mind.

Rosie was waiting for them as they rolled into the yard and James observed with some satisfaction that she appeared to have returned to her former lilacy-mauve livery. Less familiar was the glare with which she greeted their arrival and she groaned as she took in Henry's condition. "Not again, Henry! What am I supposed to do with your goods train now? There's a delivery of coal due from the Mainland any minute and the trucks are in the way."

"Your concern is duly noted," said Henry bitterly. "Get Donald to take it."

"If you paid attention to anything other than yourself, you'd have noticed that Donald isn't here," Rosie snapped. "The Fat Controller has finally sent him back to his own branch line. He's been doing so much of your work recently that there's a huge backlog at Brendam and Douglas threatened to go on strike unless he returned."

"Douglas's inability to manage the trucks is not my problem." Henry looked across the yard towards the waiting train and smirked. "I might have expected you to have a bit more sympathy for his situation, though."

James, who had been following the disagreement with a good deal of confusion, realised that the trucks were singing quietly. They increased their volume when they noticed that they had an audience.

_Rosie thinks she runs the yard._

_What a foolish notion._

_She can't control us, not at all._

_We'll cause a big commotion!_

_The engines know she's dull and slow,_

_She's stupid and she's dozy,_

_And when Sir Topham Hatt finds out,_

_Off for scrap goes Rosie!_

Horrified, James found he couldn't drag his eyes away from Rosie's face. The tank engine flushed a vivid red and pressed her lips together firmly, struggling to hide her upset. James felt deeply uncomfortable at witnessing such humiliation and looked for a way out of the situation. Fortunately there was an obvious solution. "I'll take the train for you."

Rosie looked up at him and her expression contorted instantly into one of fury. "You think I need a big strong tender engine to save me from the mean trucks? Don't patronise me. I don't even know who you are."

Under any other circumstances James would have retaliated but he had enough sense to squash his annoyance. Lashing out to hide embarrassment and insecurity was a tactic he understood all too well. In any case, being berated by Rosie of all engines was an experience so startling that he didn't really know how to react. "I'm James," he said, in a deliberately calm tone which sounded like it didn't belong to him. "I don't mind doing you a favour. You need an engine to take Henry's trucks and I might as well make myself useful."

Rosie raised an eyebrow. "Do you know how to get to Knapford, James?"

"I know Sodor pretty well," answered James, hoping this wouldn't be questioned further. He hadn't yet decided how he was going to explain his presence to those who didn't recognise him, aware after his encounter with Henry that no one would be convinced by the truth.

Rosie regarded him thoughtfully, weighing up her options. "All right. Shunt Henry over there out of the way. You seem to have your own brake van so we'll couple him up at the rear."

"Oh, I was going to leave him-" James began, but Rosie moved off, preparing to pull Clarence into position. With a sigh, James started to push Henry forward again.

"Thank you," the green engine said quietly.

"That's all right. I couldn't just leave you there."

"Other engines would," Henry said solemnly. "You've been really decent. Such kindness is in pretty short supply around here. I hope you find what you're looking for, James."

"And I hope you're feeling much better soon," said James, suddenly embarrassed. He wished Henry luck and set off in the direction of the turntable, thinking over his friend's words and pondering just what it was he was really looking for.


	6. Branch Line Engines

**Chapter 6: Branch Line Engines**

It seemed that there were some advantages to the bizarre circumstances James found himself in. The trucks apparently had no memory of his existence and as a result had very little ammunition to use against him. They were surprisingly tame as he was coupled up and headed out of the yard, back on to the main line. There were no taunts about squeaky wheels, faulty brakes or tar tankers, and when the subject of his red livery came up, James was able to dismiss the jibes with ease. "Is that the best you've got? My paintwork is glorious and you know it."

"You seem to have cheered up," called Clarence from the back of the train and instantly James's confidence dissipated, leaving only the feeling of dread which had haunted him since his earlier encounter with Diesel. The strange game Clarence seemed to be playing with him had been a distraction, but it didn't alter the fact that he was in genuine trouble. The Fat Controller would catch up with him eventually and when he did, Sodor might have to adjust to a Jamesless railway for real.

By this point, James's thinking on his predicament was starting to head in a new direction. Earlier, with Henry and Rosie, he had been certain that both had been sincere when they insisted that they didn't know him. Pondering this, he now concluded that it had to be his own perception that had changed. James decided that this was the only plausible explanation for the missing branch lines and the vanishing trucks. As for the cause, perhaps he'd taken on some bad coal? Or could someone have tampered with one of the water towers?

Of course, this raised the possibility that everything he had gone through that morning had been a hallucination. It was entirely feasible that he had been stationary the whole time, resting in the shed or on a siding. Horrified, James pictured other engines rolling past and laughing at him as he babbled away, lost in a world of his own, and promptly tried to repress the thought. There was no point worrying about it right now.

Annoyed that Clarence had brought his fear back to the surface and trying to distract himself from the horrors of his own imagination, James raised the question that had been niggling at him ever since the brake van had declared his angelic nature. "You know what I don't understand, Clarence? If you're supposed to be a guardian angel, why didn't you just stop me from bashing into those trucks at Knapford? That would have saved everyone a lot of trouble."

"Oh, I'm not supposed to make decisions for you," Clarence replied amiably.

"That's my job," quipped his driver, leaning out of his cab.

James scowled. "For that matter, why not stop me from crashing into Tidmouth Sheds in the first place? If there are guardian angels rolling around all over the island, why do so many accidents happen on the North Western Railway? Where were you when Henry was wrecked on the Kipper run? Or when Thomas fell into a mine? Or when Percy demolished the chocolate factory, or when Gordon got stuck in the wall at Kirk Ronan? When it comes down to it," he wound up, at this stage absolutely furious, "if bad things keep happening, what use _are_ you?"

"James," said Clarence quietly, and something in his tone commanded the engine's full attention despite his anger, "have you ever seen the aftermath of a crash on the Mainland? I hope you haven't, it's truly horrific. Engines crushed beyond repair and cut up for scrap on site. Engines whose boilers have exploded, leaving their tubes exposed and twisted in all directions, like ribbons in the wind. Burnt out carriages. Yet on Sodor, the worst any engine suffers after a crash or derailment is scratched paint and a few dents. Don't you think that's strange, eh?"

"Perhaps the engines on Sodor are just better at their jobs?" James challenged him.

"Hmm, perhaps. Or maybe there are greater forces at work," Clarence suggested. The trucks responded with cynical gasps of mock amazement and for once the engine felt that they were in agreement.

"Yeah, right," he grumbled. "You couldn't do anything that would actually help because you're too busy helping in ways that no one can see? Sounds like an excuse to me."

Clarence hummed to himself. "Are you sure, James?"

James snorted. "Oh, I'm not sure of anything any more."

The main line was just as quiet as it had been on the journey towards Vicarstown. James remained alert to the presence of other engines, hoping to avoid Gordon who appeared to have departed while he was at the yards, but it seemed there was little reason for him to worry. There was no sign of the big engine or any others until he reached Wellsworth, where he spotted one of the Scottish twins heading down the branch line. James wasn't able to identify which brother it was as the number on his tender looked wrong somehow and he sped off towards Brendam before the red engine had a clear view. It was funny, he thought, that earlier in the day all he'd wanted was to be left in peace and now he was rolling along an almost deserted line feeling dreadfully lonely.

It came as something of a relief when he arrived at Knapford Yard and promptly spotted Thomas dozing on a siding. Despite his anxiety, James found himself grinning. This was far too good an opportunity to miss. "Heeeere's James!" he cried at full volume, braking sharply as he pulled alongside the tank engine.

Thomas awoke with a start and blinked sleepily at him in confusion. "Who's James?" he mumbled.

James groaned. "Come on, Thomas, don't you start with all that rubbish! I need to get rid of these trucks. They're Henry's really but I offered to take them as he's ill and they were causing problems for Rosie."

"I didn't ask for your life story," said Thomas, grumpy with drowsiness. "Stick the trucks on that siding over there."

"All right, there's no need to be so moody," snapped James, rather taken aback. "Don't have a go at me for helping out a friend! I don't remember Rosie having difficulties like that with the trucks before. Do you know anything about it?"

"No. Never met her," said Thomas flatly.

"Of course you have!" James protested. "_Rosie_! She used to worship the rails you rolled on!"

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Didn't realise I had such an impressive reputation. Anyway, trucks over there. I'll see you next time you're passing through." He closed his eyes.

"He's telling the truth," Clarence chipped in. "Rosie was brought to Sodor directly from Southampton Docks. She went straight from being part of a team to managing the yards on her own and she didn't have Thomas around to train her and demonstrate how to deal with the trucks."

"Thanks," the tank engine murmured without opening his eyes.

"What are you doing?" James watched his friend carefully. He was slightly concerned at seeing Thomas so still, a stark contrast to usual busyness he associated with the smaller engine. His lack of curiosity in the apparent newcomer was also worryingly out of character.

Thomas yawned. "I thought I'd have a nap actually, not that it's any of your business."

"A nap?" James echoed, incredulous.

"I haven't got anything else to do." The blue engine's eyes remained shut. "Not until Gordon needs his coaches again."

"But what about your branch line?"

Thomas frowned. "Branch line? Ah!" he reopened his eyes as a realisation struck him, "I see what's going on. You want _Toby_, he's the one with the branch line. I'm _Thomas_. I'm the station pilot."

"No, you're not!" James grimaced in frustration. "You're Thomas, you run the Ffarquhar line with Toby and Percy. You work with two coaches called Annie and Clarabel. Stop messing about!"

"Look, I don't know who told you about our railway, but they've got it all wrong," Thomas regarded James thoughtfully and spoke slowly, having obviously decided that he must find it difficult to process information. "I'm the station pilot here at Knapford. Rosie is the station pilot at Vicarstown. I've never met her because we can't go charging along the main line whenever we feel like it. Toby does work on the Ffarquhar line but I've never heard of an engine called Percy. I remember Annie and Clarabel, they were Edward's old coaches. I haven't seen them since… well, I haven't seen them for a long time. Now," as James opened his mouth to speak, "are you going to move those trucks or are you going to sit there all day?"

Not trusting himself to say anything without getting tetchy, James slowly allowed his driver to move him away from the tank engine towards the siding that had been indicated. Thomas's hasty summary had left him feeling as though the world he knew had been completely dismantled and then reassembled using most of the correct parts but in the wrong places. None of it was true, of course, but Thomas had clearly put a lot of thought into the fiction and James couldn't grasp why anyone would make such an effort for the sake of a prank. Things were getting out of hand. He was so preoccupied as he contemplated the situation that he didn't notice Joseph, the guard, insisting to the shunter that Clarence should be coupled behind him again. Thomas was summoned to move the brake van and did so with an expression of deep disgust, evidently resenting the disruption to his rest.

James was knocked out of his reverie as Clarence's buffers clanged against his tender and he huffed in annoyance. "I suppose you put Thomas up to this, didn't you?"

"Up to what?" asked Thomas before Clarence could react.

"This whole 'station pilot' nonsense. The 'I-didn't-get-a-branch-line-because-you-weren't-here-with-your-wooden-brakeblocks' act. Ha ha, very funny. Now can we all go back to normal, please? Where are Stafford and the others, anyway?"

Thomas stared at him. "Trust me, if I had the chance to be anything other than a station pilot, I'd take it. My work is boring."

"If you're so bored, why don't you do something about it rather than sleeping the day away? Go off and have an adventure. See the world."

Thomas gave a mirthless laugh. "If you've come to Sodor in the hope of seeing the world you'll be sorely disappointed. I'm lucky if I get to see Wellsworth these days."

"Someone's coming," Clarence pointed out, and the two engines looked across to the line from Tidmouth to see a familiar tram engine and coach trundling into view.

James couldn't help but stare at the number painted on his side: a bright yellow '5', the twin of that on his own tender. It was an incongruous sight, but on closer examination, James could see that the paint wasn't fresh. In fact, Toby could do with a new coat of paint altogether in James's view. A cold feeling passed through his boiler as he realised that this prank must have been planned a frighteningly long time ago and he wondered how long Percy would manage to keep himself hidden away.

"This is Toby," Thomas declared. "Toby, this is…" the tank engine frowned in an attempt to recall the name, "… Jamie?"

"James," corrected James quietly. Somehow the fact that Thomas had already forgotten his name hurt more than the fact that he hadn't recognised him in the first instance.

Toby smiled at him and rang his bell by way of a greeting. Behind James, Clarence perked up. "Somebody's just made it," he said cheerfully.

James frowned. "Made what?"

"Every time you hear a bell ring, it means that some angel's just got his wings," the brake van explained.

Thomas sniggered at this and Toby shot him a curious look. Embarrassed, James muttered, "Look, I think maybe you shouldn't mention getting your wings around here."

"Why? Don't they believe in angels?" Once again Clarence wore an expression of almost impossible innocence and Thomas began to laugh as he caught sight of it.

James looked uncomfortably at Toby. "He has these strange ideas. I think he's been in a few too many crashes, if you know what I mean."

"I see," Toby replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. James was mortified to realise that the tables had turned completely and the old tram, so often the target of his own mockery in the past, was laughing at him. It wasn't the first time that this had happened but it was still uncommon enough for James to be disconcerted by the feeling. He resisted the urge to glare, just in case it made him appear sillier.

"Henrietta, do you know what happened to Annie and Clarabel?" Thomas asked. "_James_ here was just asking about them."

"Annie and Clarabel!" the coach murmured with a smile. "They were such dear friends to me back when they worked on the branch line. I'm sorry, I don't know where they are now but if you find out, please let me know. I'd love to see them both again."

"I suppose you could try asking-" began Toby.

Thomas cut him off sharply. "I'm not speaking to _her_."

"Gordon's words," observed Toby sternly, as James looked on in puzzlement.

"I can think for myself, Toby," argued the blue engine. "I don't want to agree with that pompous idiot, but on this he's got it completely right. We can't let her sort get their wheels on the rails round here or it'll be the beginning of the end for all of us."

"That argument might have carried some weight when she first arrived, but she's been here for _years_, Thomas! You all need to move past this silly prejudice and stop letting Gordon have his way."

"Very brave," said Thomas coldly. "That worked out really well for Duck, didn't it?"

Toby glanced at James, worried. "I don't think you should bring that up in front of a newcomer."

"What happened to Duck?" James asked, giving in to curiosity. "He seemed fine when I saw him this morning. Well, sort of," he added, recalling the disagreement and his own shameful behaviour.

The others seized on his words with an eagerness which took James completely by surprise. "This morning?" Thomas gasped, but he was cut off before he could get any further by a cry of delight from Toby.

"He's all right? Oh, thank goodness! Knowing how things are on the Mainland, it's impossible not to worry when an engine is sent back there. I'd almost convinced myself he'd be scrapped by now."

"I miss Duck," said Henrietta sadly. "He really understood how to treat coaches."

Toby's face fell. "Henrietta? Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Of course not, dear, don't be silly," the coach reassured him. " But I know you agree that he was treated badly."

"He was sent away?" James asked. He was starting to worry that he might have accidentally given the three false hope but Duck truly hadn't been in any danger when they had last spoken.

"That's what happens when you get on the wrong side of Gordon," explained Thomas with a pointed look at Toby. "He managed to persuade the Fat Controller that Duck was a disruptive influence and the next thing we knew, he was gone."

"But it wasn't Duck," James murmured, confused. "It was Diesel all along."

"What?" Thomas was staring at him again. "What diesel? There aren't any diesels here."

"Except Mavis," Henrietta reminded him.

James closed his eyes, reluctant to ask but unable to resist temptation. "Clarence?"

"Ah yes, no diesels on the North Western," Clarence supplied. "Revolutionary technology like that is far too expensive for the Fat Controller. He was only able to purchase Duck because the Great Western was modernising and their steam engines were being sold off cheaply. Same with the Scottish twins and Rosie."

"Well, there's a silver lining, I suppose," remarked James, recalling Diesel's sarcastic smile.

Frowning at the unexpected turn taken by the discussion, Toby attempted to shunt it back on track. "Anyway, if you want my advice, James, it's best to keep out of Gordon's way. If he tolerates you, he'll try to bully you around to his way of thinking. If he doesn't, your life won't be worth living. It's better to stay out of it."

"But he's only an engine like the rest of us," protested James, with Henry's warning echoing through his mind. "How can he have so much control over things?"

"Oh, he's the pride of the line," declared Thomas, sarcasm laying thick over his words, "the poster engine for the North Western Railway! Somebody has to be the Fat Controller's favourite and unfortunately for all of us, it's him."

"The Fat Controller doesn't want to risk aggravating him," said Toby, rather more calmly. "The railway would suffer greatly if the express service were to become unreliable."

"Toby," Henrietta interrupted, "it's time to go. The quarry workers will be late for the afternoon shift if we don't get a move on."

Toby sighed. "Quite right, dear. Good to meet you, James. Thomas," he paused, examining the tank engine's defiant expression, "please think about what I said." He began to move slowly away, ringing his bell in farewell, then stopped again, chuckling at the sound. "Get me, Henrietta! I'm giving out wings!"

"Oh, Toby!" the coach chided gently. "Don't tease them like that!" But as the two departed, she gave James a shrewd look. He recalled suddenly that Henrietta had brakes and wondered whether she was also an angel before the rational part of his mind intervened to remind him that angels didn't really exist. _Bad coal_, he told himself firmly. _Get your firebox cleaned out and you'll feel a lot better._

Thomas yawned. "Duty calls. The Great and Mighty Gordon will be wanting his coaches. See you later, Jimmy!"

"It's _James_," the red engine called after him, but it was too late. Thomas was gone.


	7. Old Iron

**Chapter 7: Old Iron**

"Well, now what do we do?"

James's driver turned to face his fireman and sighed thoughtfully. "The pub's probably open," he said, tapping his fingers on the reverser. James cringed as the vibrations travelled through his footplate, setting his teeth on edge.

Unamused, the fireman shook his head. "Do you think we've been erased from history too?"

The driver paused, resting his hand on the lever. "Honestly? I don't want to find out. On the other hand, I think we really need to speak to the Fat Controller so we can't avoid the matter for much longer."

"No!" James interrupted, hastily. He didn't feel ready to face his owner yet; he was far too bewildered by his current plight to have given any thought to that particular problem. "I want some fresh coal. From the hopper next to the station." He wanted to test his theory about bad coal and as he had last filled his tender from the hopper at the goods yard, he had decided that he was more likely to find unadulterated fuel if he looked elsewhere. To his great relief the fireman acquiesced and nothing more was said about finding Sir Topham Hatt.

Once in position under the hopper, James had a good view of the trains arriving at and departing from Knapford Station. The railway was still unusually quiet. He saw Toby and Henrietta setting off for the branch line and reflected that at least they had seemed happy enough. He prepared to set off again once his tender was refilled but was distracted by some sort of furore coming from the tracks ahead. There, labouring along the line from Wellsworth and dragging a line of recalcitrant trucks behind him, was Douglas, his brows knitted in fierce determination. The trucks were braking as hard they could, their wheels emitting ear-splitting screeches which made James wince, but it was the looks on their faces which really disturbed him. This was not the predictable mischief that trucks were prone to, real malice was evident in their features and the thought of it made his boiler run cold.

Douglas glanced up, James's conspicuous paintwork having caught his eye, and the red engine could almost feel the fury radiating from him. "And what are ye lookin' at?" he roared.

James recoiled, suddenly terrified. Douglas looked entirely capable of inflicting some serious damage and he was thankful that the points prevented the Scottish engine from switching onto the track leading to the hopper.

The thought of his humiliation being witnessed by an unfamiliar engine was clearly too much for what remained of Douglas's patience and he let out an incoherent yell of rage which reverberated around the station's canopy. The sound seemed to act as a signal to the trucks who immediately released their brakes. The train began to accelerate rapidly, its momentum building as the trucks pushed Douglas along. Belatedly realising what was happening, Douglas slammed on his own brakes but he had already lost control. James caught a brief glimpse of his panicked expression before he was gone, careering towards the station.

"We have to help him!" he cried. "Come on, Clarence!"

"You can't go backwards, there's someone here," reported the brake van.

"Don't go after him," said a quiet voice from further back on the line. "He won't thank you for it."

"Emily?" James was astounded at the lack of urgency in the other engine's tone. "How did you sneak up on me like that? Hurry up, Douglas is in trouble!"

"Don't go after him," Emily repeated, no louder than before.

"But we can't just leave him!" James protested.

"You should." The Single Stirling remained firm. "Douglas is a fiercely proud engine. If you rush to his aid, he'll take it out on you rather than the trucks."

James huffed, paralysed by indecision. There was a good chance that Douglas might be off the rails by now – or worse, he realised, reminded of his own headlong flight through Knapford and the resulting collision with the back wall of the sheds. But he had seen the look in the Caledonian engine's eyes and he was loath to do anything which would further incur his wrath.

Behind him, Emily sighed. "I'm waiting for coal," she pointed out, still in that odd, low tone.

"All right, all right, I'm moving," grumbled James, resigning himself to leaving Douglas to his fate. He rolled forward, moving onto the adjacent line.

"Keep going," Emily instructed.

James raised an eyebrow. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"In the nicest possible way, yes." Emily kept her eyes fixed on some point in the distance. "You don't want to be seen talking to me." She began to move away.

Indignant, James whistled sharply at her. Emily halted again, still avoiding eye contact with him and warily scanning the tracks outside the station.

"Look," snapped James, feeling thoroughly worn down by the day's events, "I've had a very difficult morning. I've had some bad coal or something and this brake van is messing with my smokebox for reasons I'd rather not go into right now. Everything is wrong and I've got absolutely no idea how any of it can be possible. Can't you just tell me what's going on so I can avoid putting my wheel in it with everyone I meet?"

"Gordon's due out of Knapford any second with the express," Emily warned, her gaze still riveted on the lines in and out of the station. "You'll regret it if he sees you speaking with me."

"Well then, save me the trouble and talk quickly. Why didn't you help Douglas? And why shouldn't I speak to whosoever I want?"

Emily finally looked directly at him and her expression was filled with dismay. "Where on earth did you come from?" she muttered. "I'm trying to help you out but you just don't seem to have a clue."

"That's probably because you're not actually telling me anything! You just keep ordering me about without any explanation!" James's voice rose in exasperation and Emily glanced back towards the tracks nervously before smiling ruefully.

"I really don't do myself any favours, do I? All right, then, this is the short version. I'm not popular on this railway. Everyone has their place and mine is right at the bottom. Even Douglas ranks higher than me and you've seen how the trucks treat him."

"Hang on – you mean that's happened before?" James was appalled.

"As I understand it, he had a run-in of some sort with a brake van years ago and there's been hostility between them ever since. Over time the van managed to rile up most of the trucks so now they all hate Douglas and make his life hell at every possible opportunity. Donald, his brother, has tried to put a stop to it more than once but that just undermines Douglas's authority even more."

"This is your angelic friend, eh Clarence?" said James bitterly.

"He is moving in mysterious ways," replied the brake van serenely. "I don't approve of his methods but I'm sure his intentions are good."

"'_Moving in mysterious ways_,'" repeated James angrily. "He can't move at all without an engine's help. This is a load of nonsense, angels shouldn't be spiteful. Although you're not exactly providing me with a lot of help right now so perhaps-"

He was cut off by a soft groan from Emily, who had caught sight of an engine emerging from the station and stopping at a platform.

"Oh. It's you." Gordon's voice boomed across the tracks. "The red engine."

"Correction: it's '_Splendid_ Red Engine'," James called back. He winked at Emily and was rewarded with a weak smile. "My friends call me James. You can call me…'Red Engine'."

Gordon was unimpressed. "I suppose you think you're clever."

"With my dazzling wit, magnificent paintwork and undeniable charm, it's hardly surprising that other engines get jealous," James informed Emily in a stage-whisper.

"You really should be more discerning of the company you keep," Gordon remarked, refusing to rise to the bait. "No decent engine would be friendly with _that_. Unless, of course, you're another one?"

James gasped in mock offence. "Are you suggesting that I'm a GNR engine? How _dare_ you?"

Although he enjoyed winding Gordon up tremendously, at that moment the miserable expression on Emily's face was more of a motivation than his own entertainment.

The insult to his heritage was not sufficient to deter Gordon from what was clearly a self-appointed mission. "Has she told you what she is? She is not a _proper_ engine. She's a facsimile. Not _genuine_ like the rest of us."

"That's what all this is about?" James looked in astonishment at Emily who was inspecting her own buffers, her face flushed with shame. "He's all worked up because you're a replica?"

Emily's history had come as something of a surprise to the engines of Sodor when she had first arrived on the island. Initially, it hadn't been clear why the Fat Controller had purchased her, she had simply appeared one day with no fanfare and little in the way of explanation. It had quickly become apparent that although she was confidently knowledgeable, she lacked the experience the others had expected of an engine of her class. The truth was eventually revealed following some judicious questioning: she had been a special project, built in a workshop somewhere in Scotland with the intention of improving upon the GNR's original design. Although she was judged to have been a success, the modern additions and adaptations having made her far more powerful than the earlier Single Stirlings, her builders now found themselves in possession of an engine but without a railway on which to run her. The modernisation of British Rail was well under way and there was no market for new steam engines when the existing models were being scrapped in favour of diesels. Heritage railways, on the other hand, had little inclination to purchase a brand-new locomotive as their primary objective was to rescue older engines at risk of being lost to the scrapyards. For a time Emily was left in limbo but just as it seemed she would have to be disassembled, the Fat Controller had expressed an interest in bringing her to the North Western Railway, providing her with a sense of security for the first time in her existence.

Gordon regarded James coldly. "I, for one, am not going to allow imitations to replace hard-working original engines on this railway without putting up a fight. It is disgraceful that she should have been gifted a branch line at the expense of another who had run it perfectly well for many years."

The unfairness of this comment seemed blindingly obvious to James. "You can't blame an engine for the Fat Controller's decision," he pointed out. "It sounds to me as though Emily hasn't actually done anything wrong."

"If that's your attitude, so be it." Gordon wheeshed steam as he began to roll out of the station. "At least you have your scruffy brake van to keep you company. You may appreciate that in the weeks to come when the others realise that you're a traitor and refuse to associate with you."

James watched the express coaches depart thoughtfully. It was plain now that Emily was the engine Thomas had referred to earlier, not Mavis as he had initially suspected. _You're getting too involved in this_, he told himself sternly. _It's not real. Don't give them the satisfaction of falling for the prank._

But it was hard to completely distance himself from all that was going on around him when Emily sat on the next line with such deep misery written across her face. "Are you all right?"

"I hate him," Emily said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. "He's been like this ever since I arrived and he's turned everyone against me."

"Oh, I don't think Toby feels that way," said James, hoping he sounded reassuring.

"Toby and Henrietta are decent to me but they have to be, we share a branch line and they just want a quiet life." Emily sighed. "Every time a new engine joins the North Western I hope things will be different but Gordon always manages to get to them and distort their opinions of me. Even Oliver can't stand me now and we got on so well when he first arrived."

"Oliver?" James frowned. "But wasn't he here before you?"

"Oh no, I've been on Sodor for longer than he has. I should have been the NWR's number 7 but Gordon was so irate at the proposal that the Fat Controller decided against it. I can't help feeling that if I had a number, my life might have been a little easier. Anyway, James, I'm glad you're able to think for yourself." Emily's voice was beginning to waver. "Thank you for standing up for me. I-I'm not used to having someone on my side. You don't know how much your kindness means to me."

James laughed nervously, worried that the green engine might start to cry and unsure what he should do. "Don't mention it. It's all a bit strange, really. You're not the first engine to describe me as kind today and it isn't something I'm generally known for. Vain and selfish, that's me." A thought suddenly struck him and his eyes narrowed. "Is that what all this is about, Clarence? Some sort of ploy to make me change my ways and become a better engine?"

"That wasn't the intention," Clarence assured him. "I'm trying to show you that… well, that you _matter_ and Sodor wouldn't be the same without you. Of course," he added, his eyes twinkling, "if you did decide to become a reformed character, it might help my chances of gaining my wings."

"Don't be so hard on yourself." Emily gave him another small smile. "I have to collect a goods train from Elsbridge. Thank you again, James. I hope we'll see each other again soon."

James watched her as she rolled away, struck by the fact that she seemed to be moving as quietly as she could, no small challenge for a large tender engine. Emily clearly spent a lot of her time trying to traverse the rails in as unobtrusive a manner as possible. James was well aware that he wasn't noted for empathy but even he couldn't fail to be distressed by the sight, regardless of whether it was genuine or feigned in order to trick him.

The mention of Elsbridge jolted James's memory and he recalled that Percy was still hiding away somewhere, most likely on what he continued to think of as Thomas's branch line, maintaining the pretence that he had never been brought to Sodor to replace Thomas as station pilot. If James could find him, the plot would be exposed and the truth would be irrefutable. James scowled, annoyed at himself for not making this connection earlier. "Clarence?"

"Yes, James?"

"Where's Percy?"

The old brake van looked uncomfortable. "Oh, well, I can't…"

"I don't know how you know these things, but tell me," James said, trying very hard to keep a lid on his frustration, "where is he?"

Clarence sighed deeply and James could hear the reluctance in his voice as he began to speak. "The engine you know as Percy was never purchased by the Fat Controller. Instead he was bought by a mining company and sent to work shunting coal trucks at a colliery on Tyneside." The brake van paused. "He was there for a few years but eventually the pit closed down and he was scrapped."

"That's a lie!" James cried in desperation. "There are some things you just don't joke about, Clarence. Tell me the truth!"

"I'm sorry, James, I really am," Clarence replied sadly, "but look around you. This isn't the Sodor you know. You have every reason to believe me."

The shock was almost physical, like a hammer blow to James's funnel, sending his thoughts reeling. Percy, gullible little Percy who always seemed so much younger than his years – he couldn't be dead. It surely wasn't possible, but then, James genuinely had no idea what was real any more. He groaned as he realised that the last brief conversation he had had with his friend ended with him rejecting Percy's attempt at kindness. He shouldn't have doubted his sincerity: after all, the tank engine had risked his own life to save James from that disastrous landslide at the Clay Pits despite having been the target of his jokes for several days beforehand. He'd always been a much better friend than James had ever deserved and the possibility that he would never have the chance to make up for his unpleasant behaviour weighed heavy on the tender engine.

As he sat in silence, debating whether to mourn his friend or continue to mistrust Clarence, another equally horrible consideration unfolded itself inside James's consciousness. "Who else?"

"I'm not supposed to tell-" Clarence began, worried.

James cut him off brusquely. "There are hardly any engines here. If they're not on Sodor, they must be on the Mainland and I know what that means. So I'm asking you again, Clarence: who else?"

Clarence hesitated and James considered bashing into him to loosen his tongue, an idea he promptly abandoned as he remembered exactly what had led him into this situation in the first place. Instead he remained quiet and waited for Clarence to speak.

"Harvey was lucky," the brake van said softly. "His unusual design attracted the interest of the National Railway Museum and he was purchased for their collection. Arthur's spotless record saved him and he now works on a heritage railway in the Midlands. Charlie was sent to the scrapyard but he kept his sense of humour, kept telling jokes until the workers took pity on him and found him a buyer. He's now a static exhibit outside a rail museum in East Anglia, greeting the visitors as they arrive."

James contemplated this, allowing himself to be distracted from the dreadful thought of Percy's fate. He had mixed feelings on the subject of preservation. The thought of being put on a pedestal and admired by a stream of appreciative visitors did sound rather appealing. Despite that, he didn't think he could tolerate a life in which he had to remain stationary. He'd miss the thrill of racing along, air flowing past his boiler, pistons flying back and forth.

Clarence's next words brought him abruptly back to the moment. "But the list of those who didn't make it is quite a long one, I'm afraid. Stanley, BoCo, Molly, Scruff, Murdoch, Derek… Trevor, the old traction engine, never met Edward and so was never rescued from the scrapyard. A road was built some years ago through the area where Hiro was abandoned. The construction company realised that no one knew he was there and quietly sold him for scrap without informing anyone representing the railway. You may not believe this, but there's a tank engine in Kenya who's facing an uncertain future right now because you weren't here on Sodor." Clarence paused again to let this sink in. "Strange, isn't it?" he said gently. "Each engine's life touches so many other lives, and when he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?"

James looked up at the overcast sky, fighting back the tears he could feel stinging the back of his eyes. "But I haven't done anything, Clarence," he said quietly, his voice unsteady. "I meant what I said to Emily. I… I'm not a good engine. I didn't intentionally help Douglas with the Spiteful Brake Van, I didn't allow myself to crash so Thomas could save me. I was just… _there_."

"Sometimes being there is all that matters," comforted Clarence. "But look at Gordon. You may not have actively tried to make him a better engine but it happened in part because of you. The two of you are quite alike in personality, you know, you are both rather proud and boastful. I'm sure you've heard the saying 'pride comes before a fall'?"

"You would not believe the amount of times I've been told that," James told him solemnly.

"Exactly. The consequences of your vanity always come back to haunt you and Gordon has seen you fall many a time over the years. It has taught him to have a degree of humility, believe it or not. He's still convinced that he is the superior engine on Sodor but he hasn't isolated himself because of it and he isn't quite as pompous and arrogant as he could be. He appreciates other engines as friends rather than lesser beings. That has to count for something."

James lapsed into silence again, trying to put the maelstrom of his thoughts into something resembling order. As he did so, it occurred to him that one of those who predated him on Sodor was still unaccounted for. "Edward," he said quietly. "You haven't said what happened to Edward. Is he…?"

"Edward is still on Sodor," admitted Clarence slowly.

"Good," James said, relieved. Edward could be relied on to give sensible, considered advice. He probably wouldn't understand James's position or be able to offer a practical solution but James was certain that the old engine would hear him out with sympathy and provide some form of reassurance. "Where is he?"

"You're not going to like it, James," Clarence warned him.

"Please, Clarence!" James growled. "Tell me where he is!"

Clarence sighed. "He's at Tidmouth, at the sheds."

James was moving instantly, his driver having released his brakes as soon as he heard the destination. Clarence grimaced as they hurtled along, swaying wildly as the engine picked up speed. "There must be some easier way for me to get my wings!" he called to the guard as they raced away.

xxx

**Author's note: **Working out how Emily would be affected by James's absence has been the biggest challenge in writing this story. The lack of a canon backstory for her and the scarcity of fan-made content left me without much to go on. The theory of her being a replica is one that I've seen floating around in a few places as an attempt to reconcile the fact that she is portrayed as relatively young although her basis is older that those of Edward and Toby. It isn't my own idea and I don't know where it originated so I'm not able to give credit where it's due.

Just in case anyone's interested, all of the non-Sudrian locations mentioned are based on real places. The railway which purchased Arthur is the Severn Valley and Charlie is at the East Anglian Railway Museum which in reality has a tank engine named Jeffrey on display outside the entrance. Percy was employed at the Algernon Colliery in Shiremoor which closed in 1966.


	8. Saved From Scrap

**Chapter 8: Saved From Scrap**

James had always found that moving at speed was an excellent strategy for distracting himself from anything troubling. Flying over the rails was exhilarating, of course, but it was the physical exertion and the sense of control over his own velocity which he found helpful, occupying his thoughts to such an extent that he had little capacity left for worrying. After a morning in which he'd felt totally adrift, the journey from Knapford to Tidmouth gave him a much needed respite from his fears and he felt considerably more positive by the time he began to slow down.

Clarence, on the other hand, didn't enjoy the experience quite so much and the guard proposed that the old brake van be given a chance to recover once they reached the sheds. The others were very much in agreement with this plan. Although, ideally, James would have preferred a washdown, resting in his berth for a time seemed like an acceptable alternative and his driver and fireman had pointed out rather plaintively that it was now well past lunchtime.

James also found that his rapid motion had shaken up his thoughts to some extent and they now began to fall into slightly different positions, allowing him to make connections that had not previously been apparent. "Gordon said Emily's predecessor on the Ffarquhar branch line had been running it for many years," he remarked as the sheds came into view on the line ahead.

"That's correct," Clarence affirmed, still sounding rather shaky.

"But he couldn't have meant Toby because he's still there. And Thomas said earlier that Annie and Clarabel had been Edward's coaches. Clarence," the engine hesitated, not sure he wanted to hear the answer to his question. "Did the Fat Controller bring Emily to Sodor to replace Edward?"

"He did." Clarence's tone was gentle and James had a horrible sense that he was about to impart bad news. "Work on the branch line was nearing completion at the time when you would have arrived. An engine had to be allocated to work there full time and who else would the Fat Controller choose but the most loyal and conscientious member of his fleet? Annie and Clarabel adored Edward, of course, and the passengers took to him immediately. All in all, it was one of the happier times on the railway."

"But…?" prompted James. "Something must have happened, Clarence. Tell me."

"Ah," the brake van said, sadly. "You'll see for yourself soon enough."

The sheds were ahead of them now and James could see Edward dozing peacefully at the back of the berth furthest to his left. That was one less thing for Gordon to complain about, he thought, dryly. It took him a few moments to realise that the building was smaller than he had become accustomed to – of course, he reflected, on this iteration of Sodor, there would have been no need to build an extension to accommodate Emily. He headed towards a siding to leave Clarence as agreed.

As he was uncoupled, Clarence spoke up again, his voice steady and calm once more. "James, you really had a wonderful life. Don't you see what a mistake it would be to throw it away?"

James paused, pondering Clarence's choice of words. Was 'wonderful' the correct term? He had good friends, a job which frequently involved pulling passenger services and, of course, he had been safe on Sodor when the others of his class had been sent to face the scrapper's torch. As precious as those things were, it was hard to balance them against the fact that he seemed to constantly be in disgrace and had become a figure of fun for his vanity and tendency to make poor decisions. If that counted as wonderful, James thought, then some engines really must lead pretty miserable lives. "I'll pick you up again later," he told Clarence and headed wearily to the turntable.

Although from a distance the scene in the shed had appeared peaceful, as James drew closer he could see that he had been terribly mistaken. Deep lines were etched into Edward's face, unfamiliar creases which hinted at prolonged pain. His blue paint was flaking, with rust patches blooming abundantly across his boiler, cab and front buffer beam, and his tender was missing. As James reversed cautiously into the berth alongside him, the cause of his suffering was revealed. Above the driving wheels on his left hand side, Edward's frame and splashers were badly mangled, the metal twisted and rusting. James couldn't tear his eyes away from it, and in that moment he understood. He knew with every rivet of his being that Clarence had been telling the truth all along, for there could be no one, on Sodor or beyond, who would inflict such torture on poor, inoffensive Edward solely to play a trick on another engine. Hallucination due to bad coal could also be ruled out. James didn't want to believe that his own imagination might be capable of conjuring up such a nightmarish image.

His fireman inhaled sharply as he descended from James's cab and saw the extent of the damage, while his driver swore. "Poor old thing. Why the hell has he been abandoned here in this state?"

"Are you sure you want us to leave you here?" James's fireman asked, his tone low so as not to disturb the sleeper.

James managed a brittle smile. "You're supposed to have a break. I'll be fine."

The fireman patted his buffer. "We'll be back soon, I promise. Try not to worry, James. I don't know what's going on but there must be some way to get things back to normal. We'll work it out."

Once they had departed, James had nothing to distract him from Edward's terrible injuries and he found that his gaze kept returning to the misshapen metal below his boiler. He felt cold to his firebox as he realised that he had seen the old engine with such damage before, a long time ago. "The enthusiasts' train…" he murmured.

Edward's eyes snapped open and James froze as he scrutinised him with a searching look that the younger engine found deeply uncomfortable.

"Marvellous." His voice was barely audible, weak from lack of steam and hoarse from under use. "A new engine, come to gawp at the old iron rusting away in the back of the sheds."

"I-I'm sorry," James stammered. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Hmm." Edward didn't seem to be in a particularly talkative mood. He closed his eyes and after a few minutes of silence, James concluded that he must have fallen asleep again and sighed deeply. He wished he had tried to persuade his crew to take him to the washdown instead.

Edward was not asleep and his eyes blinked open once more. "What's the matter with you?"

James looked back at him with an anxious expression, unsure how much he ought to admit to. He could hardly unburden himself to Edward as he had intended when the blue engine's suffering was clearly so much greater than his own. "I've just heard that a good friend of mine has been scrapped," he said quietly.

"Oh. I see." Edward closed his eyes yet again and James wondered if it was too much effort to keep them open. "Well, if it's any consolation, there are worse fates."

Aghast, James stared at him, hoping he had misheard. "That's a bit insensitive," he muttered.

"Insensitive?" The word has barely more than a hiss, the sibilance echoing around the shed. "You're a fine one to talk, bringing up the subject of the scrapyard to an engine in my position!"

Words failed James and he gazed miserably at Edward, fervently hoping that his crew would return soon. Admittedly he hadn't stopped to consider the possibility that the subject would upset the old engine, but all the same, he couldn't recall him snapping at anyone like that before and being on the receiving end was disturbing. He wanted to get as far away from this distorted version of his friend as was physically possible.

After a few moments, Edward sighed heavily and reopened his eyes, his face suddenly sorrowful. "I'm sorry. That was unfair. You are well within your rights to grieve for your friend. I'm afraid I find it difficult not to feel slightly bitter at times."

The apology went some way towards easing the tension and James felt able to relax slightly. "Bitter? If I were in your position, I'd be raging."

"What would that achieve? The atmosphere in the sheds is unpleasant enough as it is. I don't see any benefit in making it even worse." Edward hesitated. "That may have seemed a little indiscreet. Honestly, if you haven't already noticed that the working relationships between some of the engines on this railway are strained to say the least, it will become obvious before too long."

"Never mind the others." This was ground James had already covered and there were more pressing matters concerning him right now. "What happened to you?"

"My siderod swung into me when a crank pin broke," said Edward, matter-of-factly. "A group of rail enthusiasts were visiting from the Mainland and I was responsible for returning them to Knapford so they could get home on time. I was in poor condition; so many parts in need of maintenance that I clanked dreadfully when I moved. I hadn't been properly overhauled in decades. A storm broke when I was on the way back, my wheels slipped on the wet rails and the next thing I knew, I was in the most horrendous pain. I tried to move the train but I simply couldn't manage it. A bus collected the passengers, Henry shunted me back to the sheds and I've been here ever since."

James gaped at him in horror. Although it wasn't a topic which was discussed very often, all of the long-standing members of the Fat Controller's fleet were aware that Edward's confinement in the sheds in the early years of the North Western had made a deep and lasting impression on the old engine. Upon his release, he had returned to service with a quiet determination to make himself indispensable that had never diminished, embracing the opportunity to train newer engines in order to cement his position. The Fat Controller respected him greatly for his drive and loyalty but had probably never realised how much these qualities had been shaped by fear. James knew that being left in the sheds once more was probably the worst fate that Edward could have imagined and he struggled to understand how this had been allowed to happen. "Why didn't the Fat Controller have you repaired?"

"I'm the last of my class. No K2s have been built for a very long time. Repairing me would have been such a big job and he found a newer engine who was being sold at an unusually low price. He replaced me instead. It was a purely financial decision based on the need to keep my branch line running smoothly."

"But that's just... cruel!" No wonder Gordon hated Emily so ardently. James could imagine what it must have looked like to the big engine, watching as a newcomer took ownership of the branch line while a colleague he had known for years was cast aside to gradually disintegrate.

"It's misplaced sentimentality," Edward said in a resigned tone. "The Fat Controller can't quite bring himself to scrap the oldest engine in his workforce. Initially it was a temporary situation and I was to be repaired when the funds became available. Now, I believe, he finds it easier to forget about me."

"He wouldn't do that," argued James, but even as the words left his lips he remembered Glynn, the old coffee pot engine. At least Edward had the luxury of a shed to keep him from the worst of the Sudrian winters. "Well, you need to speak to him," he told the old engine forcefully. "You can't just accept this, it's brutal!"

Edward glanced at him. "Don't you think I've tried? Sir Topham doesn't visit the sheds any more so I can't speak to him myself. Another engine agreed to raise the matter with him on my behalf but it caused a great deal of upset and he ended up being sent away so-"

"Duck?" James cut across him. "I heard that he had a disagreement with Gordon."

"He did." Edward lowered his eyes and James silently observed that he had never seen his friend look so utterly bereft – heartbroken, if the word could be applied to a being without an actual heart. "Gordon objected to what Duck had to say. It was all my fault. A thoroughly decent engine was sent away because of me."

Dread permeated James's boiler. He could almost feel it coursing through his tubes.

"He told the Fat Controller that I should be scrapped," Edward continued, his voice now so faint that James almost had to resort to lip-reading. "And he did so because I asked him to."

For a second James wondered if the rails had dropped away beneath him. Everything suddenly seemed horribly unreal and he felt weirdly detached from it all. "You _asked_ to be scrapped?" he whispered.

"The severity of the damage will only worsen if I'm left here," Edward pointed out. "My scrap value diminishes as the cost of my repairs rises. The Fat Controller might as well scrap me now and salvage something from this sorry mess. It's my time, I accepted that long ago. I don't want the situation to be drawn out any longer than it already has been. I've realised that there's no point wishing for a different outcome, it's going to happen sooner or later, and I'd rather it be on my own terms. Duck understood that."

_Of course he did_, James thought bitterly. It made perfect sense that Duck, always more committed to duty than emotion, would be prepared to take on that challenge when Edward requested it of him.

"Gordon went after Duck because he was terrified," Edward went on. "He still is, although he does a remarkable job of hiding it. He is unwilling to give up hope that the Fat Controller will have me repaired because he's so frightened that the same thing could happen to him one day. If I'm disposed of, it will set a precedent that could put all of the older engines at risk. Gordon will fight against it any way he can and more recent arrivals are of little consequence to him. He didn't care what happened to poor Duck and he doesn't care what might happen to the engine who replaced me."

Hearing Edward speak so calmly about his own death was the most horrible thing James had experienced all day, despite it already having been the worst of his entire existence. "You're not going to ask me to do the same, are you?" he asked, his tone low as he tried to keep his distress in check, "because I won't. I won't do it and you can't ask it of me."

Edward looked up at him. "No. I've only just met you and anyway, I feel guilty enough over Duck. I haven't asked the others either, although that's partly because I know none of them would consider it. Henry is worried that he is only a few wheel turns away from the scrapyard himself and doesn't want to draw attention to the fact. Toby prefers to keep himself to himself and won't get involved. And Thomas…" Edward's voice trailed off and his gaze drifted out to the turntable. "Thomas can't bear the thought of having that on his conscience and I don't want to cause him further distress. He's already so unhappy. He used to be such a cheerful, mischievous tank engine, but decades of dull, unfulfilling work have knocked all of that out of him." He looked back at James. "I'm sorry, you're new here and this isn't the welcome you must have been hoping for. It's rare that I get an opportunity to speak so openly to another engine-"

James wasn't really listening. A single thought was glowing like a beacon in his mind, burning brighter and brighter, obscuring all others, and he cut Edward off abruptly with an anguished wail. "It's all my fault!"

"What is?" Edward shot him a questioning look, his raised eyebrow smoothing some of the lines on his face and making him appear more like the engine James knew.

"Everything! I was meant to be here, I should have arrived before Per-… before Toby. Do you see the number on my tender? I should have been the number five engine! It turns out I've got a knack for accidentally being in the right place at the right time and without me, things haven't happened the way they were supposed to…" James could feel himself becoming increasingly agitated but the valve was open now and the flow of words couldn't be stopped. "I might have expected you to be happier without me on Sodor, Edward. I've treated you quite badly over the years. But if I'd been here, you'd have had that overhaul you needed. There was an incident where I ended up running down the main line without my crew. You chased after me and caught me and saved me from a terrible crash, maybe even saved my life! The Fat Controller was so impressed that he sent you to be repaired as a reward. The look on his face when he spoke to you… he's never looked at me like that in all the years I've worked on his railway." He gulped and looked down at his buffers for a moment; he had thrown away any chance of making his owner proud now. "Anyway, the overhaul did the trick and a few years later, when your crank pin broke, you managed to pull the coaches all the way back to Knapford without help. You were magnificent, Edward! You don't deserve to be stuck in the sheds and neglected like this. It isn't right!"

If the old engine was surprised that a stranger knew his name, he didn't show it. He continued to stare at James in shocked bemusement.

The red engine took this as an invitation to continue. "I'm an idiot. I wished myself out of existence and I've ruined things for everyone. I don't know how to get things back to the way they were. I don't even know if I can. What if this is permanent and the Sodor I know doesn't exist any more? Percy and the others will stay dead forever and it will all be because of me, because I only ever think about myself!"

The words dried up as a wave of exhaustion hit him, and he fell quiet again, wholly fed up of the confusion and the guilt. The only sounds in the sheds were the hissing of his own steam and the smouldering of his fire. Alongside him, Edward was uncannily silent. Even when asleep, engines usually made some sound and James found the absence of noise rather creepy.

The silence was eventually broken by the Furness engine. "How did you wish yourself out of existence?" he asked softly.

James didn't quite know what to make of this. "You believe me?"

"I don't think that matters, really," replied Edward, sincerely. "_You_ clearly believe that it's true."

James studied his expression, trying to gauge whether the older engine was mocking him. He seemed to have accepted the tale rather too readily, but then, any form of entertainment would probably be welcome to a locomotive whose horizons were so restricted that he could barely see as far as the turntable. "There was a brake van. He said he was my guardian angel, of all things. I said I wished I had never been built and suddenly I hadn't. It's ridiculous. I wouldn't believe it if it hadn't happened to me."

"Well, then," said Edward thoughtfully. "Have you asked this brake van if he can get you back to your Sodor?"

James frowned as he tried to recall the events of that morning and groaned when he realised his error. "I...I didn't believe him. I never asked if he could get me home because I was so sure it had to be a trick. Why didn't I think of it before? How could I be so stupid?"

The sound of approaching footsteps crunching across the ballast caught his attention and both engines looked across to see James's crew returning, bearing bags of chips swaddled in newspaper. James, suddenly impatient, called out to them. "We need to go and find Clarence, _now_!"

His driver grumbled under his breath about lunch breaks and working conditions and overtime pay but the urgency in his engine's voice was unmistakable and both men returned to the cab, readying him for departure. As they busied themselves, James spoke soberly to Edward. "I take back what I said earlier. If I see the Fat Controller, I'll tell him what you've told me."

Edward looked worried. "Please don't put yourself at risk on my account. The last thing I want is for another engine to throw away their future."

James flashed him the most confident smile he could summon up. "I shouldn't be here anyway. What do I have to lose?" And with that, he was gone, leaving the blue engine alone in the shed once more: battered, weary and beaten.

Feeling reinvigorated, James raced to the siding with renewed hope. Clarence had all the answers and, now he thought about it, it made perfect sense that he would also know how to undo whatever action he had taken to remove the red engine from reality. A cautious smile spread across his face. The end was in sight.

And seconds later, his optimism came crashing down once more and he stared at the rails ahead of him in consternation.

The siding was empty. Clarence had vanished.


	9. Escape

**Chapter 9: Escape**

"Thomas! _THOMAS!_"

James hurtled towards Knapford Station, his teeth gritted. The tank engine was ahead of him on the next line, shunting a brake van to the rear of a long line of trucks, and James was pinning his hopes on the possibility that it might be Clarence. His resolution was firm despite the disappearance of the old wagon. Now that he fully understood the reality of his situation, all he needed to do was find the angel and persuade him to return Sodor to its original state, and no one on the island was going to bloody well stop him.

Of course, if he did get back home, there was still the prospect of the Fat Controller's punishment awaiting him but he could cross that bridge when he came to it.

Thomas looked up and frowned as James raced into the station and screeched to halt alongside him. "Oh, it's you again. Do you need to yell like that? They can probably hear you in Barrow."

"Is that my brake van?" James gasped, but as Thomas began to reverse out of the way, he had a clear view and groaned as he found himself face to face with Toad. "I can't find Clarence. Have you seen him? Daft face, bushy eyebrows?"

Thomas gave him an unconcerned look. "Don't think so, but if it's a brake van you need, I do have a selection at the yard which you could choose from. What type would you prefer: face or no face?"

"Shut up, Thomas, this is serious!" growled James in frustration. "I need Clarence! It's really important that I find him. Do you have any idea where he might have gone?"

"Nope." Thomas continued to roll backward, his task completed.

Recognising that he was unlikely to obtain any help from that quarter, James yelled after him, "I know why the Fat Controller gave you a branch line, Thomas: because you're a rubbish station pilot!" Thomas gave him a pitying look as he departed which stoked James's anger further and he turned his attention to the brake van with a scowl. "You must know where Clarence is, Toad."

"Where who is, sir?" Toad asked, as polite as ever, even when dealing with a visibly furious stranger.

"Clarence! I know about the angel thing, so there's no point pretending that you don't know who I mean."

"But I really don't know who you mean, sir," Toad told him, perplexed.

The sound of raised voices from the head of the train caught James's attention. Noticing his curiosity, Toad explained, "Mr Oliver and Mr Donald have come to make a complaint, sir. It's been a tough morning on the Little Caledonian."

"The Little What? Actually, never mind." James decided that he didn't have time to investigate that remark. He glanced up the tracks and froze at what he saw there. The Fat Controller was standing on the platform, looking directly at him. Perhaps it hadn't been wise to shout at Thomas.

For a second, he considered fleeing back towards the yard, but he already knew that Clarence wasn't there and finding him had to remain the priority. Anyway, James had given Edward his word and he was determined to honour the commitment. Reluctantly he rolled slowly forward, drawing level with Oliver.

"So you must be the mysterious new engine everyone's been talking about," Sir Topham Hatt remarked, casting a critical eye over James and ignoring the pleading look on the green tank engine's face. "What is your name?"

"James, sir." Although he managed to sound as insouciant as possible, James felt completely on edge. He knew that in this reality the terrible incident at the yard had not occurred, but the knowledge wasn't enough to totally quell his rising fear.

"Where are you from, the old Lancashire and Yorkshire? Class 28?"

"Yes, sir. The pony truck was an experiment."

"Sir, the situation at the docks-" Oliver attempted to reignite the previous conversation but the Fat Controller waved away his intervention, strolling down the platform to peer into James's cab.

"Is that a hydraulic braking system? That's an unusual modification, I've never seen anything like it on a steam engine before. Does it work effectively?" This last was addressed to his crew, who both made non-committal noises. James tried to look as innocent as possible, earning a curious look from Oliver. At platform three, Donald wheeshed angrily.

"Sir, we cannae keep going on as we are! Ye haftae send that engine back to the Pits! Poor Douggie-"

"I'm working on it, Donald," the Fat Controller interrupted, without looking away from James's controls. "In the meantime, it was very generous of the manager at the Pits to lend us Ben to help clear the backlog. I think you're being really rather ungrateful."

"Tell that to mah brother!" snapped Donald. The Fat Controller stopped inspecting James to frown at him and Oliver shot him a warning look. The Scottish engine appeared to realise that he was pushing his luck and hastily assumed an apologetic expression. "Ah'm sorry, sir," he mumbled.

"Ben is working at the docks? China Clay Ben?" James asked doubtfully. "If Cranky hasn't chucked him into the sea by the time you get back there, I'll eat Sir Topham's hat!"

"Ah, I see the twins' notoriety is spreading," the Fat Controller chuckled. "Don't worry, it isn't a long term arrangement. Well, James, you can see that we need more engines to join the fleet here on the North Western Railway. If you've come to Sodor in the hope of finding work, we'd be happy to offer you a trial. What do you say?"

"I don't think I'd like that, sir. Anyway, I'd probably be sent away before too long for annoying Gordon." James didn't know where he found the courage to defy his controller so flagrantly but he was absolutely certain it was the right thing to do if he was going to undo the damage he had inadvertently caused. "Mind you, that would be better than being tormented like Emily or left to rust in the sheds like Edward."

Oliver stared at him, eyes and mouth perfect Os of amazement, while Donald's expression showed unabashed admiration at the red engine's nerve. The Fat Controller's smile faded, to be replaced with an unmistakable look of guilt. "You've spoken to Edward?" he asked cautiously.

"Yes sir." His confidence bolstered by Donald's approval, James found it easier to fulfil his promise to the old blue engine than he had anticipated. "Did you know he wants you to scrap him?"

To James's surprise, the man slumped, almost appearing to shrink in his sadness. "This isn't what I wanted, you know," he said despondently. "I had such grand plans: more branch lines, designated shunters at the docks, maybe even a diesel or two. But running a railway isn't easy and the circumstances were never quite right to make the changes I had intended. I've made mistakes, but I always wanted the best for my engines. They are all important to me- yes, you are!" as Donald began to scoff. "I have focused more on the day to day operations of the railway than the happiness of individuals but only because I had no alternative."

An awkward silence fell. Donald and Oliver seemed uncomfortable as a result of this unexpected change in their owner's demeanour, while the Fat Controller himself looked embarrassed, appearing to regret having been so honest. Once again, James felt compelled to try to put things right. "I can help, sir, but not in the way you're thinking. I just need to find my brake van. He'll know what to do."

All eyes turned back to the red engine, and Oliver raised an eyebrow. "You think a brake van knows how to improve our railway? No offence, Toad!" he added at a louder volume, having realised that his own brake van would have overheard the rather disparaging tone of the question.

"None taken, Mr Oliver!" came the cheerful reply.

"He isn't just a brake van," said James, resigned to the fact that if his plan was going to succeed he was going to have to weather some degree of ridicule, as much as he would prefer not to. "Clarence is a guardian angel."

"An angel!" hooted Donald, grinning widely.

James held Oliver's gaze, deliberately avoiding eye contact with the Fat Controller. He didn't want to see what his reaction might be. "He is. Toad probably knows where he is. He's your guardian angel, Oliver. That's how you managed to escape the scrapyard and travel to Sodor safely."

Oliver burst into uproarious laughter at this statement and James scowled at him as passengers and staff waiting on the platforms turned to look at them. Finally Oliver regained some self-control and managed to suppress his mirth sufficiently that he was able to speak again. "Oh dear! That's absolutely made my day, that has! I haven't laughed like that in ages!"

"It isn't funny," said James bluntly. "It's the truth. Tell him, Toad!"

"Oh, but it is!" Oliver chuckled, while Toad remained tactfully silent. "Let me tell you, there was no hint of angelic goings-on when we escaped from the Mainland. If it hadn't been for my resourcefulness and-"

Donald rolled his eyes. "We dinnae have time for this again, Oliver!"

The Fat Controller's attention had remained fixed on James throughout this and he had managed to recover some of his composure. "All things considered, I think it might be best if you went on your way," he said gravely.

James narrowed his eyes. "I'm sorry, sir?"

"I don't think it's wise for you to remain on the North Western Railway," Sir Topham told him. "You've already caused a good deal of confusion today by running up and down the main line with no regard for timetabling. The workers in the signal boxes didn't have the faintest idea what was going on. Now, if you're not planning to stay here and work, I can't have you roaming around disrupting our schedules."

"You think I'm mad, that's why you want me to go," James returned, his eyes flashing defiantly. "I'm not mad, everything I've said is true. Fine, I'll leave. I don't want to stay anyway, I don't want to end up as miserable as everyone else here!"

Taking his cue, his driver released James's brakes and wrenched open the regulator and, without so much as glancing at the signals ahead of him, James flew off down the main line as fast as his pistons could propel him. He whistled a farewell to Donald and Oliver as he raced away and felt a small amount of comfort as he caught the faint sound of their replies.

"What now?" cried his fireman, frantically shovelling coal into James's firebox.

"I don't know!" James thought quickly. "Wellsworth? Maybe Clarence has ended up in the yard there."

In the absence of any better suggestions, they hurried off at such a rate that James wondered if he might have matched the old speed record which Gordon had treasured for so long. Barely any time seemed to pass before he clattered into the station and surveyed the yard with dismay. There was no sign of the brake van, although it took some time to ascertain that fact as the sidings were in a state of complete disarray, trucks scattered all over the place. James couldn't help thinking that if Edward were to see it, he would probably burst a valve, albeit in a quiet and understated sort of way. "Clarence could be anywhere," he wailed as he charged off along the main line again.

His driver thumped the side of his cab. "James, I think we're going about this the wrong way."

"What do you mean?" For a horrible moment, James feared that his crew had lost faith in the endeavour. Without their support, he had little chance of successfully locating the missing brake van and no hope of getting home.

"Well, Clarence is an angel, isn't he? He knows what's going on. He knew that you needed his help long before your exploit at the hill, he'd already got himself coupled to the back of the train. Perhaps you don't need to find him at all."

The fireman paused his shovelling and stared at his colleague with a newfound respect. "Good thinking, Laurence!"

"You mean...?" James looked up the line in front of him where the slope of Gordon's Hill loomed. "Clarence!" he yelled at full volume. "_Clarence!_ Where are you?"

There was no reply, but James couldn't give in to despair. This was all he had left and he was going to keep trying until all hope was unequivocally extinguished. "Clarence!" he screamed as he reached the apex of the hill, his words carried away by the force of the wind. "Clarence! Help me, Clarence! Get me back! Get me back! I don't care what happens to me, just get me back to my friends! Help me, Clarence, please! Please! I want to live again!"

Droplets of water ran down his face, and it occurred to him that he couldn't recall when he had started to cry. In the next instant, he became aware that his vision was obscured, not by tears but by heavy rain hammering onto his smokebox and across the island, although a hint of brightness was just about visible towards the coast. He didn't have time to dwell on the thought as he heard a familiar booming voice calling his name.

"James? Are you all right?" Gordon had just begun his ascent of the hill on the approach from Maron and was staring at the red engine. "What's the matter?"

James was not in the mood for another lecture about the proper way for an engine to behave. "Oh, leave me _alone_, Gordon!"

"What on earth are you yelling at me for?" demanded the big engine, slowing as the wet rails hampered his progress. "Honestly, it's hardly worth attempting to engage in conversation..." Whatever else he had to say on the subject was lost as he completed his climb and raced away down the other side of the hill, the thunder of the passing coaches drowning out his subsequent remarks.

Once the noise of the express had diminished, James became aware of the excited chatter coming from his cab. "Look behind you, James!" his fireman cried happily.

James looked back and there, grumbling away in their usual fashion, was the line of heavy trucks whose disappearance had disturbed him so greatly a few hours previously. Coupled at the rear was the scruffy old brake van, now faceless and inert. A broad grin split the engine's face. "The trucks! They're here! Hello, you wonderful old troublesome trucks!"

And, feeling happier than he had done for weeks, James set off once more for Vicarstown. He had a train to deliver, and nothing short of a miracle was going to prevent him from being on time.


	10. Home At Last

**Chapter 10: Home At Last**

"Hello, Vicarstown!"

Rosie, resplendent in red once more, rolled her eyes in a good-natured fashion and continued shunting as James exultantly announced his arrival in the yard. The rain had eased off during his journey across the island and the sun was definitely threatening to break through the clouds at some point soon. Over on a siding, where he had been patiently waiting for Rosie to assemble his train, Henry greeted his friend with some urgency. "James! Are you all right?"

"Of course I am, Henry!" James beamed at him as the trucks were uncoupled. "Everything's splendid!"

"Really?" Henry looked unconvinced. "Diesel has spent the morning telling everyone a wild story about you being in dire trouble with the Fat Controller. He seems to think your days on Sodor might be numbered."

"I expect he's right!" James was aware that he probably sounded completely manic but he genuinely didn't care. He had made it back to his Sodor, the sight of Henry's post-Crewe design providing the proof, and even the prospect of the Fat Controller's wrath couldn't shake his good mood.

"What?" Henry peered intently at him, visibly worried. "Are you sure you're all right? You seem very... happy."

James grinned. "Of course I am. I've realised something very important today, Henry: as long as my friends are happy, it doesn't really matter what happens to me. I never learn from my mistakes. You can't really blame the Fat Controller if he decides he's had enough, can you?"

"I can't argue with that," Henry told him, still watching him with concern. "You do keep doing idiotic things, although I know you wouldn't do something as dreadful as hurting someone intentionally. But the thing is, James, you're our idiot. Do you really think any of your friends would be happy if you were sent away? You belong here on Sodor. Who else besides us would put up with you?" James began to scowl, then relaxed as he saw the twinkle in the green engine's eyes.

"If the Fat Controller decides to get rid of you, he'll have to go through the rest of us," Henry continued, his expression morphing into one of focused determination. "We'll show him confusion and delay on a scale he could never have imagined!"

"That really would be something worth seeing," James chuckled. "Anyway, how are you feeling, Henry?"

Henry's face fell. "Oh dear. I'm sorry about this morning, James, I shouldn't have snapped at you. It wasn't really about you at all. It's just the whole tunnel thing. Every time it rains like that I have to tolerate all of the old jokes at my expense and it always puts me in a bad mood."

"That wasn't what I meant, but never mind." James gave him an enquiring look. "Does that mean you're not going to move to the sheds here?"

"I haven't decided yet. I fancy a change, if I'm honest." Henry appeared thoughtful. "I'm bored, James. I know that the repetitive nature of our work can't be avoided but I don't want to be stuck doing exactly the same thing day in, day out until I'm eventually decommissioned."

"Well, it's your decision. You don't need my approval," James remarked cheerfully, still too buoyed by his homecoming to feel disappointed. "But be warned: Gordon will not take it well."

Henry smiled. "It won't hurt Gordon to be reminded that the railway doesn't revolve around him. He'll get over it. Although if I do leave Tidmouth, I'd appreciate your support when I break the news to him."

"Ah," said James brightly, "that will depend if I'm still around by then. Well, I can't stay here and chat, my presence is required at Tidmouth." James paused, feeling rather as though he ought to say something meaningful, something to make amends for being so uncaring all those years ago and to show Henry that his friendship was appreciated. Nothing seemed appropriate, however, and so he settled for a cheery farewell. "Have a wonderful day, Henry."

"I'll see you later!" Henry called after him as he departed. Despite his jubilation at returning home, James wished he could feel absolutely certain that would be the case.

XXX

The clouds finally parted as he approached the cow field where his first accident on Sodor had occurred. Warmth and brightness flooded his surroundings and James found himself admiring the beauty of the landscape in a way he rarely, if ever, had before. The sunlight made everything look glorious, an enhancement which presumably also applied to his own paintwork, despite the mud resulting from the morning's heavy rain. He took some satisfaction from this, confident that if his departure from the island was imminent, then at least the final impression he left in his wake would be dazzling.

The cow field had been the start of things, if truth be told. Suffering such an accident on his very first day on the North Western had been a mortifying experience and James had deliberately set out to reinvent himself in the aftermath, insisting that his remaining black paint was stripped off and replaced with something more striking. It was far better to be known as a vain, boastful engine preoccupied with his new livery than an inept and shoddily-built one. James wondered how differently things might have turned out for him and, by extension, the rest of the railway if he'd never become 'the Red Engine'. The world was in a state of such delicate balance that the most seemingly innocuous decision could send events down very diverse tracks, and James marvelled at the myriad potential possibilities that could exist.

Upon his return to service after the crash caused by his brake blocks, he'd also been determined to erase the memory of the event by proving his skills and subduing the trucks. The bootlace incident had been a setback, but recalling it in light of his current circumstances brought an unexpected smile to his face. He had suffered setbacks before and overcome them, and he could do so again.

His joy even remained undented when he almost collided with a stationary Diesel who had stopped to speak to Edward at Wellsworth, and he greeted both with a rapturous cry. "Edward, you splendid old engine! Isn't Wellsworth lovely? And hello Diesel! I've never been so glad to see you!"

Diesel squawked in alarm and bolted forward. "You see?" he called to Edward. "I told you he'd gone barmy! Have you spoken to the Fat Controller yet, James? 'Arry and Bert want to know when to expect you at the smelters."

"The Fat Controller isn't going to scrap me," said James assuredly. Having witnessed Edward's fate on the alternative North Western, he was now absolutely convinced that his owner could never bring himself to order the demise of one of his engines. Looking across at his friend, he took in the sight of Edward's immaculate blue paint, intact frame and splashers and his unlined face, and he grinned at him in relief.

Edward stared back at him in wide-eyed alarm. "James? What is going on?"

"I'm just pleased to see you, that's all," James told him happily.

"Now I'm even more worried," remarked Edward, raising an eyebrow.

Charlie Sand leaned out of his cab. "Take the compliment, old boy! A comment like that from James is a rare and precious thing and should be treasured!"

James stuck his tongue out at the driver. "I'm perfectly capable of being nice when I want to be!"

"You're taking this far better than I'd expected, James," Diesel chipped in, his face bearing its habitual smirk. "The Fat Controller's not likely to forgive you readily after this morning's performance. He could well be making arrangements to send you to another railway as we speak."

"As you were?" asked Edward mildly. "How many times were you sent away, Diesel? And yet here you are."

Diesel rolled his eyes as he began to hum away. "There is no comparison between my behaviour and James's actions at Knapford. Are you really defending him, Edward? I thought you were better than that."

"You'll miss me when I'm gone!" James called after him as he departed, and Edward looked at him in surprise.

"_When_ you're gone? James, is there any truth in Diesel's story?"

James paused, grimacing. "Well, yes. Assuming he hasn't exaggerated anything to make it sound worse, which he probably hasn't because what really happened was bad enough."

"Then how can you be so cheerful?" asked Edward quietly.

The realisation of how his manner might be misinterpreted struck James abruptly and he hastened to correct the old engine. If Edward, generally recognised as one of the more perceptive engines on the island, could think him so callous, he didn't dare to speculate on what the others must think of him. "How could you think that of me, Edward?" he demanded, hurt by the implication. "I know I'm not always as thoughtful and kind as I should be but I honestly do feel terrible about hurting that worker. I just... I'm cheerful because I'm _relieved_. I thought I was responsible for ruining things for everyone on the railway and now I've found out that it isn't true, I feel so much better."

He was half tempted to tell Edward all about the incident at the hill and Clarence's intervention but decided against it when he realised how implausible it would sound. Realistically, he could never tell another soul. Anyone who heard the truth would simply dismiss the tale as James's ego running wild again and there was no proof he could show to support any claim that Sodor could have been so different without him. "You have no idea what's happened to me," he told the blue engine.

"You do seem to have caused a lot of anxiety today," Edward said gently, in a tone which suggested that he was more than a little anxious about James's behaviour himself. "I heard there was a rather unpleasant argument earlier."

"Ah, yes. That." James sighed. "Look, Edward, I know I was pretty awful to Philip but I promise I'll apologise to him as soon as I can."

"Philip?" Edward looked puzzled. "I haven't spoken to Philip since he left the shed this morning. Percy said there had been a disagreement at Tidmouth, and Gordon asked me to keep an eye out for you as you were standing at the top of the hill shouting at nothing and it concerned him."

"Gordon said that?" James felt a sudden rush of affection for the big engine, touched that he cared enough to raise the matter with Edward.

Edward was still studying his expression carefully and James felt the last dregs of the euphoria he had experienced earlier draining away. He couldn't bring himself to resent Edward for it; his intervention had undoubtedly worked in his favour. If the Fat Controller had witnessed his joyful manner it certainly would not have helped his cause. "I want to make up for what I've done," he said quietly, looking down at his buffers. "I want to put things right. I don't want to be sent away, even though I probably don't deserve to stay."

"Do what you always do, James," said Edward, unfailingly sensible and considerate. "Show the Fat Controller that you're truly sorry. He's a reasonable man and he's known you long enough to understand that there is no malice within you. He won't send you away if he knows that you have taken responsibility for your actions and you feel remorse over what happened."

James smiled ruefully. "I don't know if that will be enough this time." The signal ahead of him changed and his face took on a determined frown. "I suppose there's only one way to find out."

He had delayed long enough, and he was ready. It was time to face his fate.

xxx

To his immense relief, the sheds were empty when James returned to his berth. He wanted to discover what lay in store for him without an audience. His hopes were promptly dashed when Duck rolled into view, the Fat Controller leaning from his cab. Despite his resolve to overcome whatever challenges lay ahead, James felt panic rising within him and he tried to calm himself and gather his thoughts as the Great Western engine stopped on the turntable before him.

It came as something of a surprise when the engine spoke first. "I want to say sorry to you, James," said Duck, as forthright as ever. "My behaviour this morning was unprofessional and I recognise that I made the situation worse. I've explained my part in the incident to Sir Topham Hatt and he has graciously accepted my apology. I hope you will too."

James stared at him, open-mouthed and speechless with amazement. This turn of events was not one he had anticipated in the slightest, and he didn't quite know how to react. He was somewhat relieved when the sound of frantic whistling reached the sheds and Percy came charging towards them, braking sharply and coming to an abrupt halt on the track that ran past the turntable. "You can't send James away, sir!" he cried, his expression rebellious. "We won't let you!"

"Percy?" The Fat Controller frowned at the new arrival. "Where did you hear that, exactly?"

"From Emily," declared Percy defiantly, "but she heard it from Caitlin, who heard it from Henry, who heard it from James himself, so it must be true! I'm being a disputation again, sir, to tell you that the rest of us will go on strike if you try to get rid of James!"

Henry had been as good as his word. James couldn't quite believe that he had managed to mobilise the others so quickly and gave Percy a look of pure gratitude.

Sir Topham Hatt sighed and shook his head. "Honestly, rumours on this railway travel faster than Gordon." He turned back to the red engine. "Well, James, give me one good reason why I shouldn't send you away."

"I didn't mean to hurt anyone, sir," James said, his tone sober. "I was in a bad mood and I should have controlled myself better. It was a stupid, spur of the moment decision and I feel awful, knowing that someone was injured because of it. I'm so, so sorry, sir. Please forgive me." His voice began to falter and he didn't feel able to say any more.

"You should feel bad, James," the Fat Controller informed him sternly, "Young Mr Sahota is feeling very miserable right now. At the very least, you're going to make a full apology to him when he feels up to travelling into Tidmouth. Is that clear?"

James glanced at him, hoping that he had understood correctly. "So he... he's all right?" he asked quietly.

The Fat Controller's frown deepened. "If you consider a broken collarbone to be 'all right', then I suppose he is. He's in a lot of pain and I expect it will be a couple of months before he's able to work again."

Percy and Duck, perhaps more attuned to the subtleties of non-verbal engine communication, were watching James with worried expressions, and it fell to Percy to voice their concern.

"James, did you think he was...?" He trailed off as James's face crumpled, making it clear that the assumption was correct, and Duck took his turn.

"I'm so sorry," he said sincerely. "I didn't realise that you hadn't been told what happened. I should have come over and spoken to you once it was clear he would recover. You must have had an awful morning."

Sympathy from Duck was the last thing James had expected, and the final threads of his self-control, already badly frayed, finally gave way. "Don't you start being nice to me now, it doesn't suit you," he muttered, but it was too late. A large tear rolled down the side of his nose and dripped onto his footplate.

Duck and Percy exchanged an embarrassed glance, and in unspoken agreement became suddenly fascinated by the brickwork of the shed. James's driver and fireman descended from his cab and engaged in a whispered conference with the Fat Controller while their engine sobbed quietly, finally bowing to the pressure of weeks of unhappiness, and silently berated himself. Crying in front of Duck. He would never live this down.

Eventually, when he felt calmer, the Fat Controller approached him again. "Oh, James," he murmured, his voice gentler than James had ever heard it, "how did you get yourself into such a state?"

"I'll take any punishment," James told him solemnly. "You can take all of my passenger duties away, you can paint me blue, I promise I won't complain. Just don't send me away, please."

"If I thought you were solely responsible for what happened this morning, I'd send you away without hesitation," his owner said decisively. "As it is, I can only assume that the heavy rain washed away everyone's common sense. I'll be having words with Philip, Stafford, the yard manager and the fool who had the bright idea of climbing on the trucks in the first place. All manner of regulations and guidelines were overlooked this morning and I can hardly blame you for that. I'm deeply concerned by your lack of self-control, James, but I know that you engines bump the trucks all the time. What worries me more is the news that you've been finding things difficult for a while now. That's something I should have been aware of."

James lowered his gaze to the rails, his face almost as red as his paintwork. Surely the Fat Controller wasn't expecting him to open up and reveal his innermost thoughts in front of the two tank engines? The partial demolition of Tidmouth Sheds had caused far more damage than anyone had realised but he could hardly admit to that this far down the line. He didn't particularly want to explain why the blow to his self-esteem had affected him so badly, or why his reputation mattered so greatly to him in the first place. He reflected, not for the first time, that it would be easier if he were more like Gordon, who simply set no store by anyone's opinion but his own, or like Percy, who didn't seem to care whether he was held in high regard or not. "Recently I haven't been the sort of engine I would like to be," he said slowly. "I've let everyone down. I keep trying to be better but I keep failing."

The Fat Controller looked up at him in silence for a moment before gesturing towards Percy. "No engine is a failure who has friends," he told James sincerely. "Look at how highly your friends think of you! I would like you to try harder to learn from your mistakes, but those mistakes don't define you, James, and they never have. I hope you'll remember that in future and work to develop the qualities that myself and the other engines appreciate in your character."

"Yes, sir." James still couldn't bring himself to look up from the tracks but his owner's words had sparked a small flicker of comfort within him and he cautiously allowed himself to consider the possibility that his future might be brighter than he had imagined.

"I think it's best if you stay in the sheds for the rest of the day," the Fat Controller told him. "Duck here has agreed to take on most of your work by way of apology for his actions this morning. We'll talk more about your conduct soon, but when you're feeling up to it, I propose that you spend a few days shunting in the yard with Philip. Perhaps that will give you a better understanding of his role and make you more sympathetic to the difficulties he faces."

"Thank you, sir." James managed to retain enough sense to bite back a groan at the thought of being stuck in Knapford Yard with Philip for any length of time, but he had no intention of complaining. It would be dull, it would be humiliating, it would be work unsuited to a tender engine, but he was to stay on Sodor with his friends and that was more than enough to outweigh the negatives.

The Fat Controller nodded at him before returning to Duck's cab, and as they departed, the pannier tank looked over at James with a warmth that the red engine didn't think he'd ever witnessed before. Percy remained stationary, and James gave him a wan smile. "Sorry about this morning."

"I knew you weren't happy," remarked the saddle tank with his usual lack of tact. "You should have been honest with the others, they might have been more sympathetic."

"And face Gordon's mocking for the rest of eternity? No thanks."

"He mocks you anyway," returned Percy. "It wouldn't have made that much of a difference."

James regarded the smaller engine thoughtfully. "Would you really have gone on strike to keep me on Sodor?"

"Of course! I wouldn't _lie_ to the Fat Controller!" Percy said indignantly.

"That isn't what I was getting at." James sighed. "I'm surprised that you'd do something like that to help me. I haven't always been a good friend to you, Percy. Some of the tricks I've played on you have been downright nasty. I don't know why you'd want to defend me."

"You're still my friend," said Percy solemnly. "That all happened ages ago. I've forgiven you. Anyway, it wasn't my idea. Henry did it, James. He told a few engines you were in trouble and they scattered all over the island to spread the word. You never saw anything like it."

The ember of comfort glowed a little brighter, and James found himself wondering how he had ever lost faith in his friends. Perhaps Percy was right. Perhaps if he'd been honest with them, he might have found some solace during the last few weeks. "Have you ever wondered what Sodor would be like if you'd never come here?" he asked, still unsettled by the thought of the grisly fate that, unbeknownst to him, the smaller engine had so narrowly avoided.

Percy considered this. "There wouldn't be anywhere near as much confusion and delay," he concluded with a chuckle, and James couldn't help but laugh along with him, despite a twinge of envy at the apparent ease with which Percy was able to be so self-deprecating. The smaller engine seemed delighted at having elicited such a response from his friend, and James began to thank him. He was interrupted, however, by the ringing of a bell, pealing clearly across the rails.

"Driver says every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings," remarked Percy cheerfully.

James stared at him in astonishment for a moment before managing to recover himself. "Really, Perce? He doesn't say 'Oh look, there's Toby' like the rest of us do when we hear a bell?"

Percy grinned. "I always thought it was an odd thing to say," he conceded, whistling to the old tram engine as he rattled by.

James laughed again, a deep sense of contentment settling over him. Sunlight streamed down on to the two engines, and he looked to the heavens and winked, hoping the message would somehow find its way to his intended recipient. "Attaboy, Clarence," he whispered, watching as the last of the clouds scudded away, leaving nothing to obstruct his view of the brilliant blue sky.

xxx

**Author's note:** The next time James appears in canon, he's singing 'Somebody Has To Be The Favourite' so perhaps Clarence's intervention worked a little too well.


End file.
